


Some Cupids Kill With Arrows, Some With Traps

by BethXP



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, References to Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:50:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethXP/pseuds/BethXP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two people are at constant loggerheads it makes perfect sense, at least to Courfeyrac, that they are desperately in love and just need a little help realising it. With a little cunning and help from friends, he is determined to make Enjolras and Grantaire see sense.<br/>At the same time, Marius is about to take the next step with Cosette. His friends support him completely of course for they are the power couple. But behind closed doors a jealous and bitter acquaintance is plotting to test the strength of their relationship. But nothing could come between such a power couple as that, surely?<br/>A Much Ado About Nothing AU in a modern setting with Benedick!Grantaire, Beatrice!Enjolras and of course Claudio!Marius and Hero!Cosette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> Link to Art: http://socpuppet.tumblr.com/post/100665331414/my-lmbb-art-for-bethxps-some-cupids-kill-with  
> Beta: My very own Nick  
> Thank you both, it's been a pleasure :)

“They’re ten minutes away,” cried Cosette as she jumped up from her seat and waved her phone in the air. “Marius just sent me a text. The coach is just coming off the motorway.”

Jehan, who had been reading an old leather bound book he had acquired, peered over it. He flicked his auburn locks out of his eyes and then smiled dreamily as was his way. 

“How did they do?” he asked in vague intrigue.

“Marius came fifth,” Cosette replied, beaming with pride. 

“Marius?” Courfeyrac repeated disbelievingly, “fifth? How on _earth_ did he manage that?” When Cosette glared at Courfeyrac, he quickly added, “I mean, fencing was never really his sport was it?”

“I admit he is a little clumsy-” Cosette started.

“A _little_ clumsy?” Courfeyrac scoffed as he accepted the vodka and coke Feuilly had brought back for him from the bar. “His clumsiness could rival Bossuet’s!”

“Stop it,” Cosette said, trying to stifle a laugh. She couldn’t deny it, Marius was more than a little accident prone. He had once actually slipped on a banana peel and landed head first in a cake. “Let him be proud of himself. He didn’t expect to get in the top ten.”

“Probably happened by accident,” murmured Enjolras as he continued to study the case he was working on. He had showed little interest over the past hour as those around him discussed the fencing tournament some of their friends had entered. Working as a lawyer at his father’s company, it took up far too much time for him to join the club Bossuet, Bahorel, Marius, and Grantaire all attended. 

Combeferre, who had been reviewing Enjolras’s notes, hid a smile behind his glass of orange and mango J2O as he caught his best friend's eye.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he cried at the award ceremony,” Courfeyrac joked as he took a seat beside Enjolras. 

“Don’t you dare burst his bubble when he arrives,” Cosette told them. She and Enjolras, despite being siblings, didn’t look all that much alike. Enjolras had his mother’s blonde curls and sharp feminine features whereas Cosette had her father’s dark hair that only curled slightly at the ends and a round face much like a cherub. However, they did share one trait, a piercing glare that struck fear into the heart of anyone who saw it. Sometimes the group of friends joked that Marius would never be able to break up with Cosette because he’d be too afraid of having to face the death stare from both the Fauchelevent’s. 

“We’re only teasing,” Enjolras replied, not immune but used to Cosette’s glare. He stretched out a hand in her direction. Reluctantly, Cosette got out of her seat and lent over the table between her and her brother, putting her hand in his. It was their way of showing affection as Enjolras was not the type to be overly emotional. He rubbed the back of her hand apologetically with his thumb. “Did he mention how the others got on? Did Grantaire manage to stay sober long enough to stand up during the competition?”

“Enjolras,” Cosette said in a warning tone. 

“Ignore him Cosette,” Combeferre rolled his eyes, “he’s just suffering from withdrawals. With Grantaire being away he’s had no one to bicker with. Don’t give in to him.”

“That’s not it at all,” Enjolras snapped, going back to his notes. “Marius is 23 and the youngest of us besides Cosette, Grantaire is 27. They are too old to still be playing with swords.”

“They’ve just competed in the national fencing championships Enjolras, don’t belittle them.” 

Enjolras did not argue with his sister, he knew better than that. He consented to a huff of resignation and then opened up the next folder on his pile.

Cosette’s phone buzzed. Her eyes flicked back and forth quickly as she skimmed the new text.

“Apparently Grantaire gave Marius some last minute training.”

“God help Marius,” Enjolras murmured, but he said it loud enough for everyone to hear. Cosette ignored him as her phone buzzed again.

“They’re here!”

No sooner had she said it then Bahorel's large head with his close cropped hair and wonky nose from previous breakages came into view. As they all appeared one by one, those already in their usual corner of the Corinthe cheered and applauded. Bossuet, Bahorel, and Marius all turned bashful at the greeting, Grantaire bowed extravagantly.

“Well done honey,” Cosette squealed as she dived at Marius and gave him a bone crushing hug.

“We hear a congratulations is in order Marius,” Courfeyrac said, tipping his glass in his friend’s direction. Marius blushed furiously. 

“Not really. Half the hits I got from tripping over my own feet and hitting my opponent by accident and the other half came from following Grantaire’s advice. He has a real knack for sizing up the competition and picking out their weakness.”

“Nonsense,” Grantaire said with a wave of his hand, “you did it all yourself.” Behind Marius’s back, Grantaire winked at Cosette.

“And my faith in humanity is restored,” Courfeyrac grinned to himself.

“Sorry?” Marius asked, not catching what Courfeyrac had said. 

“How did the rest of you do? We only heard about Marius.”

“Grantaire came eighth,” Marius answered for everyone, “I’m sure he threw his game with me.” Grantaire shook his head and mouthed ‘no’ sarcastically. Marius frowned at him and continued. “Bahorel came third and Bossuet came-” Marius gave Bossuet an awkward look.

“It’s all right,” Bossuet smiled, “I came thirty fifth out of forty.”

“Not last?” Combeferre asked, overjoyed. “Oh well done Bossuet!” There was another round of applause for them.

“The others in our club came twenty second, nineteenth, and that guy over there,” Marius nodded to the guy with the heavy make-up and chains on his black jeans sitting with three friends, “came sixth.”

“Well done everyone,” Jehan beamed, “you’ve all done really well.”

The fencers dropped their bags under the tables and claimed a seat each. Grantaire dug out his wallet from his jeans and sighed. 

“Right, I am in dire need of a drink. Would any of my fellow champions like a beer?”

Bahorel accepted the offer but Grantaire didn’t hear him. He had caught what Enjolras obviously meant for him to hear. 

“Excuse me?”

Enjolras straightened himself up in his seat.

“I said that didn’t take you long.”

“It didn't take you long, two minutes thirteen seconds to be precise,” Courfeyrac whispered, mockingly looking at his watch, “I think that’s a record.” Enjolras pretended not to hear him.

“Are you sure Marius beat you fairly or had you just taken advantage of the free bar the night before, or hell that morning?”

Grantaire’s broad, warm smile did not change but his eyes narrowed, growing cold and guarded. 

“Free bars are a wonderful thing Enjolras, why shouldn’t I take advantage?”

“I would have thought this tournament meant enough for you to put that bottle down for one weekend.”

Grantaire shrugged.

“As you so often like to remind me Enjolras, nothing means as much to me as the percentage of alcohol in my system,” he said sarcastically. 

“Oh for god’s sake,” Bahorel huffed exasperatedly, he never had the patience for one of Enjolras and Grantaire’s squabbles. “Grantaire was sober all weekend. He didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, didn’t even step foot in the bar. He spent every waking hour either in the tournament hall sizing up and analysing the opponents or in our hotel room reporting his findings back to us so that we all had the advantage of knowing what we were up against. And when it was over we came straight back here because we wanted to celebrate with you all. Now get off your high horse, the pair of you, and celebrate with the rest of us.”

Everyone stared at Bahorel open mouthed. When he had finished his little rant everyone turned to Grantaire, who was looking at Bahorel just as flabbergasted as those around him. When he realised everyone was now staring at him, he collected himself and cocked an eyebrow at Enjolras, challenging him to make another snide comment about things that didn’t concern him when he didn’t have all the facts. Enjolras averted his gaze, his cheeks burning red. 

When Grantaire left for the bar, Enjolras mumbled to no one in particular, “I don’t know why he couldn’t have just said that in the first place.”

At the bar, the sight of Grantaire immediately caught the attention of one of the barmaids. She finished serving her customer and then made straight for him, hugging him over the bar, just managing to get her arms round him. She was only five foot two which probably added fuel to her fiery personality. 

“Éponine!” Grantaire greeted her warmly. 

“I didn’t see you arrive. Your usual?” Grantaire nodded and handed her the money as she got out the Jack Daniels. “How did you do?”

“Eighth, which I am content with.” Éponine duly congratulated him. “Bahorel came third.”

“No surprises there.”

“Bossuet came thirty fifth.”

“No injuries?” Éponine asked suspiciously. Grantaire shook his head. “Oh,” Éponine didn’t bother to hide the surprise in her voice. “Well, go him! And Marius?”

“Fifth.”

Éponine stared at him, waiting for him to say ‘only joking’ but he didn’t. Her eyes narrowed. 

“And how much of that was down to you?”

“Why does everybody keep insisting that I had something to do with it?” Grantaire asked innocently. 

“Because, although Marius is a sweetheart, he is useless.” She smiled softly as she glanced over Grantaire’s shoulder to where Marius was sitting. The bar wasn’t far from the tables their friends had claimed, it was close enough to sit at the bar and with a raised voice join the conversation, but far enough away to have a private conversation without having to lower your voice too much. Éponine straightened herself up when she realised what she was doing but it was too late, Grantaire had already seen the emotions on her face. 

“Éponine,” he said carefully, “Marius chose Cosette…”

“I know, I know, and Cosette is one of my best friends, I wouldn’t jeopardise that. But I can't just switch these feelings off. So let me smile when he’s not looking, okay?”

Grantaire squeezed her hand before taking his drink back to his group of friends. As he passed the boy in the heavy make-up who had also been at the fencing tournament, he congratulated him on his high ranking. The boy did not respond with words but gave him a curt nod of thanks. 

“I’ll be right back,” Grantaire called over his shoulder to Éponine as an afterthought. She nodded and grinned to show she had heard him and then went back to serving customers. 

Enjolras groaned as Grantaire approached, Grantaire smiled when he saw why. Cosette, to put it crudely, was sitting on Marius’s lap with her tongue down his throat. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that around me,” Enjolras said, using his hand to shield himself from the traumatic sight. “Or at least give me a warning so I know not to look in your direction.”

“It’s a perfectly normal part of life to show one’s affections,” Cosette replied obstinately. 

“Not in his life,” Grantaire laughed, “love is foreign to him. Discounting you, of course,” he added when Cosette opened her mouth to argue. Enjolras shot him a dark look which only encouraged him further. “When Enjolras reads Shakespeare’s sonnet 130, the mistress he imagines with eyes nothing like the sun and lips less red than coral is his country which he tries so hard to defend.” A few around them sniggered, but most watched Enjolras, waiting for his reaction.

“This is going to be good,” Courfeyrac whispered to Combeferre, who had at some point swapped places with Enjolras so they could more efficiently read each other’s notes. 

“You are right in the crossfire,” Combeferre replied in the same sing song way Courfeyrac had spoken out of the corner of his mouth, “I’d be afraid if I were you. Very afraid.” 

The grin on Courfeyrac’s face dropped. 

“So let me guess,” Enjolras said calmly, “you think you are a real Casanova?”

“I am flattered you think people could fall in love with me so easily Enjolras,” Grantaire’s eyes twinkled, “but alas no. I have no interest in falling in love. It wouldn’t be fair to the other person to have to contend with this.” He gestured to himself. 

“What?” Enjolras said unimpressed, folding his hands over his chest. “A giant child who makes a living selling doodles on the street?”

“It’s a good thing you have no interest in relationships,” Grantaire said, not in the least bit offended by what Enjolras had said, at least not on the surface, “your sharp tongue would drive away anyone that got too close.”

“And yours is any better?”

“Ah, but I don’t sharpen mine daily like you do – oh and there’s the death stare,” Grantaire grinned as Enjolras glared at him. “Anyone who could manage your sharp tongue would have to handle your charming death stare. It’s a shame it terrifies everyone, it suits you.”

“You seem to be unaffected,” Enjolras growled. 

“Only from prolonged exposure, one gets used to things they experience daily.”

“So what do you advise for someone like me, if you’re such an expert?” Enjolras asked like he really didn’t care what the answer was.

“Swallow your pride and open yourself up to the idea of sharing your life with someone,” Grantaire said like he genuinely pitied him. “That is if you are capable.”

“I can swallow my pride!”

“But we all know that’s all you’re ever going to swallow!”

There was a collective ‘ooh’. Courfeyrac high fived Grantaire’s waiting hand. Grantaire threw his head back and laughed loudly. 

“Sorry Enjolras but you walked right into that one,” he said, still laughing. He took a sip of his drink. “I promised I’d go back and sit with Éponine for a bit,” he said to no one in particular as he retreated back to the bar.

“That was a cheap shot Grantaire,” Enjolras called after him. Grantaire made a toasting gesture with his glass in the air without turning back to look at him. 

“Why does Enjolras look as if he is plotting your demise?” Éponine asked as she poured Grantaire another drink. 

“Because I implied that he would never give or receive a blow job,” Grantaire replied like it was a sentence he said every day. 

Éponine threw her head back and let out one loud ‘HA!’.

“Only you Grantaire,” she said to herself, shaking her head disbelievingly, “only you.” Grantaire grinned as he took a swig from his glass.

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire jumped out of his skin, choking on his drink.

“God Marius,” he said between coughs, “don’t sneak up on a guy like that!”

“Sorry,” Marius said looking extremely apologetic. “I was wondering if I could ask you for some advice,” he blushed, “about Cosette.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed as he heard Éponine move to the other end of the bar behind him. 

“And you are asking me because…?” he said rather confused.

“You helped me a lot this weekend and you are straight talking, you’d be honest with me about what you think. Bossuet told me how you got him and Joly together.”

“All I did there was to tell them to stop being wusses and get on with it, I wasn’t exactly playing cupid.”

“Hardly. Joly said you helped him find out Bossuet’s favourite take out and you told Bossuet what Joly’s favourite film was.”

“What do you need help with Marius?” Grantaire asked shortly, getting embarrassed at how much Bossuet had told Marius. He didn’t want anyone thinking he was soft after the speech he gave to Enjolras. 

“I love Cosette,” Grantaire rolled his eyes like that was obvious, “and I want to take it to the next level. But I’m not sure what the next level is. I was thinking maybe asking her to move in with me or maybe marrying me-”

“Woah there,” Grantaire held his hands out, stopping Marius midsentence. “Marriage? It’s a little soon isn’t it? I appreciate you want to show her how much you love her,” Grantaire couldn’t help but say that in a silly way, “but not marriage. Not yet. Asking her to move in with you though, that’s not such a bad idea.”

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Feuilly as he approached them. He leant over the bar and gave Éponine a salute. Knowing the regulars’ orders, she set about getting Feuilly's lager. 

“Marius is considering asking Cosette the big question,” Grantaire replied. Feuilly’s eyes bulged in horror.

“There’s no need to rush Marius, you’re both young, marriage may seem romantic but you need to be sure.”

Grantaire laughed at Feuilly’s horrified expression.

“Don’t worry Feuilly, I’ve already warned him off marriage for now. We’re talking about moving in together.”

“Oh,” Feuilly said in a mixture of relief and surprise. “Huh. I have no arguments against that. Are you sure?”

“I’m certain,” Marius assured him.

“Then congratulations I guess,” Feuilly patted Marius on the back.

“Only if she says yes,” Marius winced.

“’Course she will,” Grantaire waved the worry aside. “She finishes university soon and is currently living with her brother, of course she’s going to want her own place. It will be better for her if she shares it with someone, especially someone who wouldn’t mind a dirty dish or two being left on the side every now and again.” They all knew Grantaire was talking about Enjolras’s obsessively clean kitchen. The rest of his flat was okay but the kitchen had to be spick and span because that was where the food was prepared.

“Oh crap, Enjolras!” Marius whimpered like he hadn’t taken him into consideration. “Do you think I should ask his or his father’s permission to ask Cosette to move in with me?”

“Oh hell no,” Grantaire shifted in his seat. “Enjolras would hate you for it. He’d go on a rant about Cosette not being the property of his or his father’s and she is capable of making decisions for herself.”

“You’re right. Of course you are. Thanks Grantaire.” Marius sat with a look of determination on his face which quickly dissolved into adoration when Cosette blew him a kiss from where she was sitting.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?” Feuilly asked Grantaire as they watched the two smitten love birds. “You don’t want to fall in love?”

Grantaire grimaced as he finished his second drink of the night, which was quickly refilled by Éponine, who had spotted his empty glass.

“Like I said, it wouldn’t be fair on the other person.” Feuilly gave him a stern look so he sighed. “Look at me,” he explained, “I have so many issues psychiatrists are afraid of me. It wouldn’t be fair to force that load onto someone else. No one would be stupid enough to fall in love with someone like me in the first place,” he added as an afterthought.

“I don’t believe that,” Marius said dreamily, “there is someone out there for everyone.”

“You tell that to the ones who die alone,” Grantaire said perhaps a little harsher than necessary. Marius’s bottom lip twitched. It made Grantaire feel just a little guilty for popping his perfect world bubble.

“You’ll take that back the day you fall in love Grantaire,” Feuilly said, “mark my words.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Congratulations Grantaire, Marius,” Jehan said as he joined them, draping his arms around each of them and giving them a soft hug. The sweet fragrance of his organic shampoo that followed him wherever he went filled their nostrils. “What topic has got you all so wrapped in conversation that you missed Bahorel chug a yard of ale behind you?”

Grantaire groaned at the news that he had missed something so exciting. Feuilly gave Jehan an answer.

“Marius is going to ask Cosette to move in with him.”

“Oh wow, congratulations Marius!” Jehan gave Marius another hug. “How do you plan to do it?”

Marius opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He frowned. He hadn’t thought that far. 

“I… I don’t know. I was just going to ask her.”

“It’s needs to be romantic,” Jehan said, “take her somewhere nice or cook her a good meal.” Jehan eyed Marius suspiciously and then said, “maybe not that. You could write her a poem expressing how you feel about her.” Being the artistic type, Jehan was understandably enthusiastic about the idea.

“I… I can't do that sort of thing. I’m a translator not a writer.”

“What if I were to write it for you?”

“You’d do that for me?” Marius couldn’t hide the gratitude on his face as Jehan beamed at him.

“Of course! I’d be happy to.”

“Any excuse to write poetry,” Grantaire said teasingly to Feuilly. Jehan ignored him as he ushered Marius out of his stool and to an empty table away from the bar.

“Come, let’s discuss what exactly you want in it.”

“Joly,” Feuilly cheered as he spotted his friend making his way from the entrance of the bar to where they were seated. By the time Joly had reached them, Éponine had already got out his usual bottle of Foster’s and had her hand out ready to accept his payment as she took note of another customer’s order. She really was an excellent barmaid.

“Thanks Éponine,” Joly said with gratitude as he paid her and drank half the contents in one go.

“Bad day?” Grantaire asked sympathetically, recognising the signs of stress and frustration.

“I had one patient come in because he thought he had leprosy but it was just a smudge of dried Weetabix stuck to his neck,” said Joly hotly, “and then another patient who made a huge fuss over seeing a doctor. Apparently a locum nurse is not good enough for her.”

Having graduated from medical school the year before, Joly had found work as a locum nurse, which often meant being lumbered with the worst patients at the practises he worked at. It was not the first time a patient had considered him not qualified enough to treat them, despite him graduating at the top of his class at a high end university. His age also often worked against him, being only 26. 

“More fool them,” Grantaire frowned, “you are better than most doctors so they should count themselves lucky.”

“I don’t think so,” Joly disagreed, but he still smiled at the vote of confidence. “So what have I missed? I need some good news to cheer me up.”

Grantaire filled him in on the fencing tournament, keeping back only how Bossuet did.

“He’s your boyfriend, he should get to tell you,” Grantaire explained when Joly protested. Joly accepted his point with only mild annoyance.

“Why are Jehan and Marius huddling together like they are planning the gunpowder plot?” Joly asked after the necessary congratulations and encouragements.

“Marius is going to ask Cosette to move in with him,” Feuilly said in a hushed tone, “and Jehan is helping him write a love poem or letter to do it.”

“So he’s in his element,” Joly grinned. “But that’s nice. When Bossuet and I moved in together it completely changed our dynamic. You think you are comfortable around one another but you realise you’ve been holding things back when you start living together. Like I never told Bossuet how I like my bath towels stacked in rainbow colour order. He didn’t know that until we moved in together. It’s a stupid little thing but the number of times he put blue on top of green, I don’t know!” He shook his head. “He had to change his habits and that can put a real strain on any relationship. But if we can do it, there is no way in hell the fairytale couple over there can’t.”

As Joly spoke, Marius had returned to Cosette’s side, kissing her head without interrupting her conversation with Enjolras.

“They are a real life Romeo and Juliet, aren’t they?” Feuilly sighed as they watched them.

“I hope not,” Grantaire grunted, “a couple like that don’t deserve to end in tragedy.”

*

The beer sloshed over the top of the glass as Claquesous slid it across the table. Montparnasse took it without so much as a thank you. He downed a third of the contents in one breath and hissed as he thumped the glass back down. He was still bitter about the climax of the fencing tournament.

“Twelve hours a week. To come sixth. I might as well have fluked it. I would have come at least third if it wasn’t for that buffoon Pontmercy! How can it be possible that someone could trip over his own feet and score a point without meaning to? The judges shouldn’t have allowed it. And now he’s here celebrating like he deserved to come fifth. I could scar that pretty face with my knife sometimes, I really could.”

“You talking about that lanky kid with two left feet?” Claquesous asked in his deep, gruff voice. It clashed completely with Montparnasse’s smooth, upper class accent. Montparnasse snorted as he nodded. “He was at the bar whilst I was getting drinks. He’s planning to ask his girlfriend to move in with him.”

Montparnasse had the urge to spit on the carpet.

“That idiot doesn’t deserve a girlfriend,” he growled, his hollow eyes darkening at the thought. “And yet Éponine is still besotted with him. I don’t know why,” he added, smoothing down his clothes and quaffed hair, “I am clearly more attractive, I have better fashion sense, and I actually _want_ to be with her. Instead she wastes her time crying over that miserable fool who has to get his lay-about friend to spy on the competition so he has a better chance of winning.”

Guelemer, who was a bigger, thuggier version of Bahorel, grunted. Montparnasse had complained before of Éponine’s mislaid attention.

“Well not anymore,” Montparnasse said with determination. Babet, who was struggling with a simple crossword puzzle, looked up hopefully. “It’s about time Pontmercy got what’s coming to him.”

Gueulemer gave a toothy grin, a few of which were missing.

“Do we get to pulverise him?” he asked with glee, punching his fist into his other cupped hand.

“No,” Montparnasse said slowly, “we are going to do something better than that.” His lip curled in disgust. “We are going to _destroy_ him.”


	2. Act 2

“What about him?”

Enjolras didn’t even glance up as Cosette wiggled her pointed finger at the screen.

“No.”

Cosette frowned.

“You aren’t even looking. How is this brother-sister time when you are sitting there working?” Cosette eyed the paperwork sprawled over her brother’s lap like the sheets offended her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you even know the plot of the film we are watching?” Enjolras glanced up at the TV and frowned. “Enjolras!”

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said quickly, “I’ve got a huge work load at the moment plus someone is leaving so I have to pick up the slack whilst dad advertises for a replacement.”

Cosette snatched the folder out of Enjolras’s hand and threw it out of his reach across the floor. She then snapped his laptop shut. When he glared at her she matched it with an even more fierce look.

“Funnily enough, I know _our_ father and I know that there is no way he would put this much pressure on you. I also know you,” she said before Enjolras could open his mouth to speak, “you’ve taken up this responsibility yourself because you want to make sure it’s done properly.” Her expression softened. “But Enjolras there are 168 hours in a week and only 35 of those hours are supposed to be dedicated to your work. This isn’t good for you.”

Enjolras shut his eyes and exhaled, conceding to Cosette’s arguments. She would only continue to nag until he gave in so he thought he might as well admit defeat sooner rather than later. He collected the papers Cosette hadn’t thrown away and put them to one side. 

“So what’s happened so far?”

Happily, Cosette clapped and turned her attention back to the film she had rented.

“It’s called X-Men: First Class. It’s about a group of mutant humans trying to save the world. I thought you might like it. You know what,” she said, thinking, “we’ve only been watching it for half an hour and I’ve missed the past ten minutes because of you, and you’ve missed pretty much all of it anyway. I’m going to rewind it to the beginning.”

For the next three quarters of an hour or so they sat in companionable silence watching the film. 

And then Darwin died.

“What was that?” Enjolras exclaimed, sitting upright in his seat and gesturing wildly at the TV. Cosette, too, did not look pleased. “If someone’s power is ‘survival’ how can they _not_ survive?”

“Maybe there is only so much he can take. Everyone has a limit,” Cosette shrugged.

Enjolras sat back in his seat, still muttering under his breath. Cosette huffed a laugh. The sight of Enjolras relaxing was a rare one and Cosette knew to make the most of it whilst she could. She constantly worried about the amount of pressure he put himself under. She did what she could but he was stubborn and there was only so much she could do. He was a grown man after all, she was reluctant to nag at him like an old nanny. She knew what she really wanted for him though, but she wasn’t holding her breath over it.

“So,” she said after some time musing, “McAvoy or Fassbender?” When Enjolras hesitated, not catching her drift, Cosette rolled her eyes. “Charles or Erik?”

“I’m not playing that game,” he replied with a deadpan look.

“Oh Enjolras,” Cosette groaned, “you are never going to find someone with that attitude.”

“Fine by me,” he shrugged, taking a malteser from the packet Cosette had got from the cupboard after she restarted the film. “I’m too busy for that nonsense. I have no interest whatsoever in dating. People make it out to be more important than it is. Love isn’t the start-all-end-all of life.”

Cosette fussed with her hair.

“So you think I’m being silly when I talk about Marius?” she said quietly, trying not to let herself get upset. Enjolras sighed and took her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I think that Marius makes you happy and that is all I want for you. It doesn’t matter what I or anyone else thinks so long as you are happy. I appreciate that, although I don’t care for relationships, that’s not the case for everybody. Dating just isn’t for me.” He squeezed her hand again and then released it in place of another malteser. Cosette did the same. 

“I refuse to be believe,” she said between crunches, “that you won’t fall in love. You may be a little difficult sometimes,” Enjolras narrowed his eyes but smiled, “but you just need to find someone who likes a challenge.”

“Mmm,” was all Enjolras said as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He had felt it vibrate and sure enough as he unlocked it, he saw he had a text from Courfeyrac.

_To: Enjolras_

_From: Courfeyrac_

_Is Cosette with you? Marius and I seemed to have ended up with each other’s phones and I don’t know where he is. I’ve tried to get hold of Cosette but she’s not picking up. Can you ask her the next time you see her please?_

Enjolras frowned.

“What’s up?” Cosette asked. Enjolras showed her the text. “Oh my phone’s on silent because I had an exam this morning. Last I heard, Marius was going to the library.”

“But,” Enjolras said, still confused, “if Marius had Courfeyrac’s phone, how can he be texting me from it?” Realisation dawned on Cosette’s face.

“Someone must have borrowed Courf’s phone and forgotten to sign their name. Marius has a password on his phone.”

Enjolras tapped out a reply.

_To: Courfeyrac_

_From: Enjolras_

_Cosette says try the library. This can’t be Courf, so who is this?_

The reply came a minute later.

_To: Enjolras_

_From: Courfeyrac_

_Okay thanks, will try there next. I heard your office is hiring, hope nobody tries to steal your shiny employee of the month award._

“It’s Grantaire,” Enjolras said the second he finished reading the text. 

Cosette, who had read the text over his shoulder, said, “how can you tell? He didn’t sign his name.”

“Because he is the only one who would say something like that to deliberately annoy me.” Enjolras shook his head. “I bet you anything he thinks he’s being so clever using Courfeyrac’s phone and not naming himself. Like I wouldn’t find out!” He scoffed. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He quickly typed out another text.

_To: Courfeyrac_

_From: Enjolras_

_As long as they have a better work ethic that Grantaire I don’t care._

The response took some time to come.

_To: Enjolras_

_From: Courfeyrac_

_Why?_

_To: Courfeyrac_

_From: Enjolras_

_Because working as a street artist is another way of saying he can’t be bothered to get a real job. He has no aspirations or motivation to do anything so he sits in a chair in the town centre, draws people for money and calls it “work”. I’d label it more a hobby._

Grantaire stared at his phone, not quite sure what to do with himself. He knew Enjolras could be cruel sometimes, he’d take their banter too far on occasions, but in this situation he didn’t know he was talking to him. In this situation Enjolras had chosen, quite deliberately, to put Grantaire down. Grantaire was shocked. That was the only word for it. Art was the only thing in this world he had any kind of affinity to. Academically he wasn’t gifted. The things he did know he had no interest in, he wasn’t religious, he hated politics, and what money could be made from mythology? So he had gone down the art route. He made enough to get by, he didn’t need much, and he was fairly happy. Who was Enjolras to insult him like that? Well, Grantaire thought, I’m going to give him a piece of my m-

“You finished with my phone?” Courfeyrac asked as he returned from the ATM. He slipped his wallet into his back pocket as Grantaire nodded, handing the mobile back to its owner. “You okay?” Courfeyrac asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire shooed him away. “Marius is at the library. Thanks for letting me use your phone. I’m going to go find him. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for a reply, Grantaire walked off leaving Courfeyrac puzzled on the corner of the pavement.

*

Every once in a while on a Saturday, Marius would take a trip to the local library. He worked as a translator for a small publishing firm that printed historical books, translating text both to and from English, French, Italian, and German. He fully intended to learn Mandarin when time permitted but for now he had enough work to get on with. 

After spending a long stretch of time focusing on one language, he liked to refresh his memory on the next language he was going to work with by going to the library and reading something in that tongue. 

Marius had his nose deep in the original French translation of The Count Of Monte Cristo when he felt a hand tap him on the shoulder. 

“Hello,” said a deep voice, soft like velvet but dangerous like snake venom.

“Montparnasse,” Marius exclaimed in some surprise as he looked up to see who was there. An old woman shhed him and he blushed, apologising with his hands. Montparnasse’s lips twisted upwards at one corner. He took the empty seat opposite Marius. 

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your triumph at the fencing tournament.” 

“Oh well,” Marius said quite flustered, “it happened by accident I assure you. You deserved it more than I did.”

Montparnasse’s lips stretched into a thin line as he rested his clasped hands on the table. 

“Not at all,” he said through gritted teeth, and then he flashed Marius a sickeningly sweet smile. Marius, however, was oblivious to the obvious discomfort it was causing him, and beamed at the compliment. 

“Well thank you. Although now I’ve got an even bigger challenge ahead of me.”

“Oh yes,” Montparnasse said in feign interest. Marius, who had been telling everyone he met from his friends to his boss, burst with excitement once more. 

“I’m going to ask my girlfriend to move in with me. I am meeting a friend here who has written a love letter for me asking her just that!”

Montparnasse hesitated.

“You’re not writing it yourself?”

Marius deflated a little. 

“Well, no. Jehan offered and besides he is far better at putting things into words than I am.”

“It’s quite personal though, how is he supposed to know how you feel about her. Unless of course he is in love with her himself! Just a joke, just a joke,” Montparnasse chuckled as Marius's face fell. He waved the suggestion away. “Anyway I must be going, I have an appointment with a jewellers this evening that I need to prepare for. See you at practise.”

The disheartened Marius vaguely nodded a goodbye in his direction. The idea was ludicrous of course, Montparnasse didn’t know Jehan so he understandably would think it strange. Not wanting to dwell on it a second longer, Marius went back to reading his book. He jumped half an hour or so later when, again, someone attempted to get his attention by tapping him. This time it was Joly. He opted to sit beside Marius rather than opposite him as Montparnasse had done. 

“Hey Joly, what are you doing here?” Marius asked as he slipped a bookmark into his book and laid it to rest on the table. 

“I’m meeting Jehan. Once he gives you your letter we are going to see a film. He sent me some of it you know, your letter, it’s genius. Cosette will love it.”

Marius did his best to look pleased but he felt a sudden lurch in his stomach that was less than pleasant.

“Fancy a drink?” Joly said to break the momentary silence. He nodded in the general direction of the café in the corner of the library. It wasn’t very big but there were a few tables they could convene around and it was in a separate room so they didn’t have to live in fear of being shushed by an old lady.

Joly got himself a coffee and a tea for Marius as Marius nabbed the only table without litter scattered on it. The move from counter to table by Joly was narrated with him going ‘hot hot _hot_ ’ as he held both drinks around the main cup rather than the handle. Relieved he had made it without dropping either of them, he put them down a little harder than necessary. He was halfway to sitting down on the chair Marius saved for him when he straightened up again and craned his neck.

“Is that Grantaire?”

Sure enough, a hooded figure in ill-fitting jeans came into view. It was clear he was looking for something or someone.

“Hey! Grantaire!” Joly called him in a shouting whisper after they had watched Grantaire search the aisles for several minutes. Realising Grantaire couldn’t hear him from behind the window and that he couldn’t shout, Joly started to wave his arms frantically in the hopes of catching Grantaire’s attention. His arms were hurting by the time Grantaire spotted them. 

“About bleeding time,” Joly said as he massaged his arms, “I was waving for ages!”

Grantaire gave a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes, it was gone as soon as it came. 

“This, I believe, is yours,” he said, taking a mobile out of his front pocket of his hoodie and wiggling it between his fingers before placing it on the table in front of Marius. “We must have picked up each other’s phones after training.”

Marius pressed the OK key on the mobile and sure enough Cosette’s beaming face filled the screen.

“Oh right,” Marius said surprised, “thanks. Sorry about that.” He searched through his own bag until he brought out a phone of the same make and model. It was not in as good condition as Marius’s mobile. He handed it to Grantaire. Just as Marius had done, Grantaire checked the screen saver on the phone – a photograph of a sketch of the Corinthe bar from the 1800’s confirmed it was his – and then he pocketed it.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Are you going to get a drink?” Joly asked sipping his own and pushing out a chair for Grantaire to sit on with his foot. Grantaire hesitated, pausing to look at Joly, then the barista, then to his pocket, which he patted with the palm of his hand. 

“Yes,” he said at last, “yeah, okay.” He went to the register and came back with a strong black coffee. “Not strong enough,” he grumbled as he brought out a hip flask, one Courfeyrac got him as a joke for his birthday, and emptied the contents into his mug. The burning scent of alcohol wafted past them. Joly hissed as Grantaire lowered his hood to reveal a pale and sunken face, an expression of constant emptiness that could only mean a whirlpool of emotions going on inside. He lifted the cup to his grey lips and sipped. 

“You look dreadful,” Marius said tactlessly. The look Grantaire gave him in reply was deadly. 

“Grantaire…” Joly started carefully.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he bit back. Joly and Marius had the grace to leave it. Fortunately, the awkward silence did not last long as Jehan arrived humming a cheery song under his breath. He was far too pleased with himself to pick up on the uneasiness at the table.

“It is finished,” he exclaimed as he slammed a notebook down on the table and pulled up a chair. Grantaire got to the notebook first, nobody wanted to argue with him so they waited as he skimmed through the pages. When he was done, a begrudging smile broke through his melancholy expression. He handed Marius the notebook to read.

“That’s good,” Grantaire said, laughing to himself at some joke nobody else understood.

“I know,” Jehan beamed.

“Really good,” Marius agreed as he finished reading. His stomach lurched uncomfortably again. “Almost like you are writing to Cosette from yourself.” Marius tried to make it light and jokey but secretly he watched Jehan to try and gauge his reaction. 

Jehan laughed. 

“Although you are aware I find all variations of gender attractive, Cosette is well and truly yours and lord have mercy on anyone who tried to take you away from her.”

Marius relaxed. He was being stupid. He knew Jehan, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise his relationship. Besides, Cosette loved him. And that was what was important. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. Jehan gave his arm a squeeze.

“You’re welcome kiddo.”

“Is that Enjolras?”

For the second time that day, Joly had spotted one of his friends browsing the shelves of the library.

“I have to go,” Grantaire said suddenly, jumping up from his seat. All the colour had drained from his face and his hands were shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Jehan asked. 

“I…” Grantaire swallowed, “I just can't deal with Enjolras right now.”

The three friends exchanged looks. Jehan decided to take the lead.

“What happened?”

Grantaire turned to see where Enjolras was, there was no sign that he’d spotted them through the glass windows of the café or had any intention of coming over. He was nose deep in a law book as thick as a brick. Grantaire sighed and sat back down. He briefly retold the texting incident.

“So basically he insulted me behind my back and said my work is worthless, I am wasting my life, and I am a waste of space.”

“You’re taking it a bit too far I think,” Joly frowned, trying to salvage the situation. “You know what Enjolras is like, he thinks any job that isn’t changing the world or helping the working man is pointless.”

“Are you sure you didn’t sign your name?” Jehan asked. “Because it sounds to me like he was trying to provoke you. I can't imagine him saying that stuff seriously.”

“No I didn’t tell him, he can't have known. Look, I’m going to go, he could come over at any minute and I just can't…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He lifted his hood back up and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked with a fast pace to the aisle next to Enjolras. He watched him through the books on the shelf. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars that he had left when he did as only seconds after, Enjolras saw his friends and made his way to the café. Keeping his head low, Grantaire slipped out of the library and made his way home for a fun packed evening of drinking and self-loathing. 

Enjolras took no notice of the hooded figure leaving the library as he greeted his friends. 

“I heard you might be here,” he said to Marius, “Cosette told me. Has Grantaire been here?” His friends exchanged looks.

“No, I haven’t seen him,” Joly shrugged at last. Marius frowned but didn’t contradict him. Enjolras looked puzzled as he glanced around the library.

“I’m working a case and wanted to confirm some legislation,” he said conversationally, “and you know how I distrust the internet-”

His gaze dropped to the notebook lying open on the table. Instinctively, Marius shut it but it was too late. 

“What is that?” Enjolras asked. “It has Cosette’s name in it.”

Timidly, Marius opened up the book to the right page and gave it to Enjolras to read, rubbing the back of his head as he did so. Enjolras took it and began to read. His expression turned darker and stonier the further down the page he got. At the point in the letter where Marius made his proposition, Enjolras’s jaw clenched. When he had finished, he gave the notepad back to Marius, who was visibly shaking. 

“Very nice,” Enjolras said at last through gritted teeth, “I have no doubt she will happily accept.”

“Enjolras,” Marius said softly, “are you okay with this?”

“It’s her choice not mine,” he snapped. He then sighed, falling into the seat Grantaire had occupied not long before. His expression had softened. “But I am glad she is with someone as honourable if not a little clumsy as you.”

Marius knew that was as close to acceptance he was going to get. He held the notebook close to his chest.

“Thank you.”

“But be warned, if you hurt her-”

“You’ll be after me, I know.”

“Oh no,” Enjolras smiled for the first time, “ _she’ll_ be after you.”

Marius did not like the way Enjolras was looking at him, like he had no idea what he was letting himself in for. He stood up abruptly, almost overturning the table in haste. 

“I’d better find some good notepaper and write this up.” He haphazardly gathered his things. “Bye everyone.” There was a chorus of goodbyes as a very pale Marius left, his French copy of the Count of Monte Cristo discarded on the table.

“You okay Enjolras?” Joly asked as Enjolras rubbed his forehead to ease a growing headache.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “yeah, it’s just…” He folded his arms across his chest and leant on the table. “The flat will be lonely without Cosette.”

“Aw,” Joly teased, punching his friend lightly on the arm. “Enjolras is getting sentimental. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone forever.”

“Tell you what,” Jehan said, drinking what was left of Marius’s drink, “if we are both still single at the age of forty, I’ll be your back up husband.”

The death glare that Enjolras gave signalled the end of that conversation. 

*

After days of writing and rewriting the letter, using various styles of paper and pen, changing words here and there and then scribbling it out using what Jehan had originally put, Marius found himself standing outside Cosette’s apartment building clutching a white envelope with a blue trim. He was trying not to hold it too tight for fear of creasing it but twice he had almost dropped it because of that. And now his legs refused to go any further. He just stood there, on the concrete path, staring up at what he thought was Cosette’s window. 

“You coming in or what?” said a gruff voice. Marius jumped. A nasty looking builder type man was looking at him suspiciously, holding open the door to the flats. Aware he had probably been staring motionlessly at the building for some time, Marius hastily entered the building, thanking the man profusely. He made his way up to Cosette’s floor and walked silently down the corridor. He planned to slip the letter through the letterbox and leave Cosette to find it in her own time. Which, of course, was when he tripped and slammed straight into her door. In a panic, he shoved the envelope through the letterbox, and then legged it down the stairs and out the building. He ran all the way down the road to the bus stop. He checked the timetable and saw his bus was due in ten minutes. He took a seat in the bus shelter. 

A few minutes ticked by with not so much as a car passing. Marius sat in silence, daydreaming about all the ways Cosette may react to the letter. 

_Marius!_

He could almost hear her calling him now.

“Marius!”

Wait, he _could_ hear her. Marius turned to see Cosette running down the street in her slippers, clutching his letter in her right hand. She was smiling stupidly as she came to a halt in front of him. 

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, “yes, YES!”

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. 

Marius was on cloud nine. He was so happy he could have cried, but Cosette put a stop to that by kissing him fiercely.

“I love you,” she said quietly, like her words were a secret for his ears only. 

“I love you too.”

*

Courfeyrac stood, calling the attention of everyone who was sitting around the two pushed together tables. He had called a meeting, requesting the presence of all of his friends save Enjolras and Grantaire, and Éponine who had to work but had procured them the tables at the Corinthe. As if he was trying to make the meeting more official, he tapped his glass. He had to tap it with his phone as there was no cutlery available.

“I have called you all together,” he began, addressing each of them in turn, “to ask your assistance on a little project I am working on. A few days ago, Jehan came to me and told me of a strange altercation that occurred in the library involving a certain Grantaire. Joly and Marius were there also I believe. Jehan.” Courfeyrac gestured for Jehan to take centre stage as he sat back down. 

“Grantaire was very upset when we saw him last at the library,” Jehan explained, “and when Enjolras turned up he was desperate to leave. After some gentle probing (Courfeyrac snorted, but disguised it as a cough when Combeferre glared at him) he told us Enjolras had insulted him, believing to be texting someone else, for Grantaire and Marius had accidently ended up with each other’s phones. He had used Courfeyrac’s phone to contact Enjolras as he couldn’t get hold of Cosette, to find out where Marius was.”

“That’s right,” Courfeyrac chimed in, “I have the texts here.” He opened his inbox and read out the conversation. When he had finished, Combeferre shook his head. 

“Oh Enjolras,” he said, like something had just been made clear to him. “He came to me, all perplexed because he thought he’d gone too far on a bit of banter he had had with Grantaire and he wondered if I’d heard from him. He never told me exactly what he had said. No wonder if Grantaire was under the impression he’s identity was a secret.”

“Enjolras was with me when he did it,” added Cosette, “when Grantaire didn’t reply he got very agitated and eventually left, I assume that’s when you met him at the library. You think he went to find Grantaire?”

“So we all agree these two idiots always seem to go over the top when concerning each other?” Courfeyrac said, steering the conversation back to his purpose for the meeting. They all made some agreeable noise or nodded. “And their constant bickering is getting ridiculous?” Again they agreed. “Then I have a suggestion. I think Grantaire and Enjolras would make an excellent couple, and, with all your help, I intend to make it happen.”

Bossuet snorted. 

“You’re not serious? They despise each other!”

“No, no,” Cosette said slowly, “they bicker but they don’t avoid each other. They would never say a bad word against each other seriously. Enjolras is very opinionated and Grantaire challenges him with factually correct points. Enjolras sees what’s wrong in this world and Grantaire reminds him of the beauty.”

“They aren’t opposites exactly,” Combeferre said slowly, tilting his head to the side as he considered the idea, “they more complement each other. I think it could work.”

“Well Grantaire has told me more than once after a night at the pub that Enjolras was beautiful,” said Joly. 

“And remember how quick Enjolras was to defend Grantaire when some woman at the bar called him dangerous and disgusting because of his tattoo,” added Musichetta. “He spent an awful lot of time listing all of Grantaire’s attributes and kind heart to her as Grantaire looked on, stunned and blushing like a beetroot.”

“And you can’t tell me none of you haven’t felt the sexual tension during one of their most heated arguments,” concluded Courfeyrac, “they are unable to take their eyes off each other.”

“Why do you think I hate them so much?” Bahorel mumbled. Musichetta rubbed his back sympathetically.

“So we are all agreed it is better for everyone if we get these two idiots together, yes?”

There was a resounding reply of ‘ _yes_ ’. Grinning, Courfeyrac stretched his hand out over the centre of the table. Cosette was the first to cover his hand with hers. Joly and Bossuet followed suit. Soon they all had put their hand in the pile. 

“To playing cupid,” Courfeyrac said, and then together they all threw up their hands in the air, cheering. As the noise came down again, Courfeyrac leant forward conspiratorially.

“Okay everyone,” he said in a low voice, “this is the plan.”

*

Éponine stabbed her Ben and Jerry’s ice cream with her spoon angrily. She refused to cry on principle, the idea of _Éponine Thenardier_ crying over a boy was preposterous. Drowning herself in ice cream, however, was perfectly acceptable. She took up another scoop and offered it to the person sitting beside her as they cradled her head in their lap. They ate it off the spoon and then continued stroking her hair. 

“I’m just so angry,” she said after a while, “and I’m angry at being angry. Cosette is one of my best friends and I wish nothing but happiness for her,” she let out a sob, “but why did her happiness have to be at the cost of my own? I don’t _want_ to love Marius, I don’t _want_ to be jealous of Cosette, but I can't seem to stop. What do I do?”

Montparnasse drew her closer but said nothing. In truth he had stopped listening to her some time ago. He was sick of hearing about Marius this and Cosette that. When Éponine had turned up on his doorstep he was overjoyed, but at the sight of the ice cream and lack of make-up he knew it was not going to be a fun evening. 

Éponine had heard the news that Marius had asked Cosette to move in with him and she had said yes. Montparnasse sat there and held her as she once again poured her heart out to him, unaware of how much he wanted to pour his heart out to her. She didn’t cry, that was something he loved about her, she was strong and intimidating when she wanted to be. But like this, all solemn and weak, it repulsed him. So as she rambled on about her mixed emotions, swallowing great scoops of ice cream and drinking his wine, he formulated a plan to get back at the ones who had turned her into this mess. His first attempt had not worked, so he needed something much more drastic, something much more concrete, to ensure the idiot Pontmercy got what was coming to him.

“It will be all right Éponine,” he said after some time. She had stopped talking a good few minutes ago and as he looked down he realised she had fallen asleep. He kissed her forehead. “I promise it will be all right.”

*

Grantaire was alone at the bar of the Corinthe, for once glad it was Éponine’s day off. He hadn’t felt much like company since the incident with Enjolras. He had spent most days in his flat wallowing in self-pity. He was fortunate really that he had such a tolerance to alcohol for half his supply was gone. He had always been able to hold his drink, he could drink half a dozen pints and still pass all the police awareness tests. For some it would probably put them off alcohol, but not Grantaire. He fully took advantage of it. Many people made the mistake of calling him an alcoholic when actually he hadn’t got _drunk_ since he was sixteen. He wasn’t stupid though, no drinking and driving or anything like that. Nor did he drink before work, which was where he had been shortly before. He had spent the day on his spot in the high-street trying to sell his art and encourage spur of the moment portraits. But today he wasn’t feeling it. He did not greet the regular customers and browsers, he did not try and get the attention of the passers-by, and he didn’t give his sales pitch to the tourists. He just sat there whilst his mind wandered, only doing business with those who approached him. He had only taken home half his usual earnings. So he had gone to the Corinthe to avoid having to think about how he was going to make-up the extra cash tomorrow.

It was all Enjolras’s fault, Grantaire thought bitterly, his snide comment had crawled into his brain like a parasite and knocked him off kilter. 

The sound of a high pitched giggle had Grantaire shooting up in his seat like a meerkat on lookout. He’d recognise Jehan’s laugh anywhere. Sure enough, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly entered the bar.

“Oh no,” Grantaire groaned. He didn’t have the energy to talk to his friends. He just wanted to mope in peace. 

Praying they hadn’t seen him yet, Grantaire pulled his hoodie up over his head and hunched over the bar as far as he could. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as they found a table behind him and sat down. At least he had his back to them, he thought. If he didn’t do anything conspicuous there would be no reason for them to notice him. 

He could hear them talking. 

“A lover’s dance can be recaptured only if the partner’s heart has not been,” Jehan paused for dramatic effect, “fractured.”

Grantaire scoffed. Jehan was reciting poetry. Normally he would have been happy to listen to Jehan’s poem of the week, but he was not in the mood for one now, especially one about love. 

“A lover’s dance is slow and kind, easy to learn but hard to find. A lover’s dance.” The others applauded as Jehan finished.

“I liked that one,” Courfeyrac said. “Who was it by?”

“Ernsalite Menard,” Jehan replied, positively beaming.

Courfeyrac caught everyone’s attention and jerked his head in the direction of the hooded figure at the bar. The others nodded to show they too had spotted Grantaire.

“It’s a shame Grantaire wasn’t here to hear it,” Courfeyrac said, perhaps a little louder than necessary, “he would have liked it, I think.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Feuilly said, trying very hard not to look at Grantaire in case he gave them away, “he’s so opposed to falling in love. He is determined to wind up alone.”

“Poor Enjolras,” Combeferre said on cue.

“What do you mean ‘poor Enjolras’?” asked Courfeyrac, the best actor out of the four of them. 

“Nothing,” Combeferre said quickly. They all counted to five silently to give the impression Combeferre was being stared down by the others for holding back on them. “Okay, okay,” he said as if he was giving in to them, “but you have to swear not to tell anyone, _especially_ not Grantaire.” They agreed. Combeferre sighed loudly. “Enjolras is in love with Grantaire.”

There was a crash as a glass slipped out of someone’s hand at the bar and smashed on the floor. Feuilly had to bite his hand to stop himself laughing as Grantaire had to move out of the way of the employee, who was trying to clean up the mess, whilst trying to stay within earshot.

“You’re joking. Come on ‘Ferre, this is Enjolras we are talking about. The guy with a heart made of stone?” Courfeyrac was enjoying himself immensely. 

“He’s been denying it for a while I think,” Combeferre said truthfully. He then recited his preplanned speech. “You know what he is like, work before anything. But Grantaire gets him to relax almost as well as Cosette, and he’s not afraid of him. He challenges him with intelligent arguments, Enjolras is attracted to his intellect as well as the empathy he has that Enjolras is sometimes lacking in.”

“They are very well suited,” Jehan said dreamily. “A kind of ying and yang.”

“I agree,” said Feuilly, “can you imagine if they’d join forces? They’d be unstoppable. They are both so stubborn and determined.”

“Grantaire would always tell it like it is and Enjolras would appreciate that.”

“And Enjolras would be able to support Grantaire when he needed it.”

“Grantaire would help Enjolras conduct himself in social situations-”

“-and Enjolras could encourage Grantaire to take his art skills further. He is already his biggest fan!”

“Hold up,” Courfeyrac said, speaking for the first time in a while, “so why did Enjolras put down Grantaire’s lifestyle choice? If he is his biggest fan? I saw the whole conversation on my phone.”

“Ah,” said Combeferre, “Enjolras told me about that. He knew he was talking to Grantaire, anybody else would have signed their name when he asked them. He said he was trying to provoke him. They only ever seem to communicate through arguments and Enjolras kind of likes it so he tries to start one up whenever he can. He likes him a lot but he doesn’t have the courage to ask him out. He’s like a little lost puppy!”

“Imagine Grantaire’s face when he finds out,” Feuilly said with a laugh.

“No!” Combeferre interjected quickly. “Grantaire cannot know. He would rip Enjolras to shreds if he found out. Remember what his opinion on love is? I wasn’t even supposed to tell you guys. No, Enjolras has just got to get over it. Now, who wants a drink?”

Guessing that was the end of the conversation and not wanting to risk being seen, Grantaire slipped out of the bar before Combeferre could get up to get the drinks. 

His mind was reeling.

“Enjolras can't possibly have feelings for me,” Grantaire said to himself, “although I guess it would explain the text. I found it hard to believe Enjolras could be _that_ cruel. But no. This is _Enjolras_ we’re talking about, the only people he loves are his sister and his father. But then again, Enjolras could be so hard to read sometimes. Maybe he was just hiding his secret behind that cold façade?”

Grantaire was conflicted. He couldn’t deny they did seem oddly suited, Feuilly and Jehan had made some good points. And yet the whole thing seemed ridiculous. Sure Enjolras was more beautiful than Aphrodite herself, but he was a friend. He couldn’t risk that friendship. But what kind of friendship was it? One where they provoked each other until they stopped talking for a week. Who would want a relationship like that? But then who said he wanted a relationship at all?

Grantaire was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t see the other person on the pavement until he had walked straight into them.

“Sorry, so- Enjolras?”

“Oh,” Enjolras’s eyes widened. It was the first time they had spoken to each other since the incident. Neither could think of anything to say for some time, they just stared at each other like they couldn’t look away. 

“I’m meeting some of the others at the bar if you want to join?” Enjolras said at last. Grantaire stared at him and Enjolras turned pink under the scrutiny. 

“Um, no thanks, long day,” Grantaire replied eventually. Was he mistaken, or did Enjolras look disappointed?

“Oh, okay then. Some other time?”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Well I’d best be-”

“Oh of course!” Grantaire stepped aside to let Enjolras pass.

“See you then?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire gave a limp wave, “bye.”

Grantaire stared after Enjolras as he walked away. He had blushed, Enjolras had blushed as he had been talking to him _and_ he had asked him to come out. Grantaire couldn’t believe it, Combeferre had been telling the truth! Grantaire punched the air, grinning so hard his jaw ached. He whistled as he walked home. 

And then he realised what he was doing. He stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Oh fuck.”


	3. Act 3

Enjolras massaged his eyes with the heel of his hands. He had come home early from the Corinthe with the complaint of a migraine. As he waited for the paracetamol to take its effect, he thought about his run in with Grantaire. It had taken him so much by surprise that he had forgotten how to speak. He so badly wanted to apologise for what had happened, he was certain he had upset him. He wanted to tell Grantaire how much he admired his art, how talented he was, but the words wouldn’t come out. When he had finally strung a sentence together, Grantaire had looked at him with an expression he could not describe. It made him feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. He just wanted things to go back to normal. Although he’d never admit it, he missed Grantaire. 

The front door slammed and Enjolras heard footsteps coming up the corridor and into the combined kitchen and living room space. There was a buzz of indistinguishable voices for a few seconds, but then Cosette’s voice rose above the rest.

“Don’t worry, Enjolras isn’t here. He went out to meet Courfeyrac and a few others at the Corinthe. Now, tell me the gossip that involves my brother.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to shout and correct her, but he hesitated. He wasn’t one for gossip, but when it involved him surely he had a right to know? He edged closer to the door and risked nudging it a little further open. He heard the springs on the coach go as Cosette and her guests sat down. 

“Well,” said a voice that Enjolras instantly recognised as Éponine, “the thing is, Grantaire is head over heels in love with Enjolras.”

“No!” Cosette gasped, which thankfully covered up the noise of Enjolras falling flat on his face as he tried to lean as far out of his door as possible without being seen to hear better. He had lost his balance as the door swung open and he had been unable to stop the fall.

“Yes!” Éponine said gleefully. “But you _cannot_ tell him, or you Musichetta.”

“As if I would,” came the voice of the third person Enjolras had heard arrive. 

“So what exactly did he say?” asked Cosette. She gave Éponine the thumbs up to continue. Unknown to Enjolras, she could see his reflection in the kettle as he kept edging closer down the corridor. Éponine took the prompt.

“He said he’s crazy about him. He listened to one of Enjolras’s speeches a few weeks ago, like _really_ listened, and he realised how much he loved the passion Enjolras had for his causes. He found himself wanting to help Enjolras with all the good he wants to do in his life. It was like an epiphany. It was quite sweet really.” Éponine frowned. “I’m worried Enjolras may put him down though, you know what his opinions are on relationships.”

“Oh believe me, I know,” said Cosette, rolling her eyes. 

“But he can't expect Enjolras to reciprocate, can he?” asked Musichetta.

“Of course not,” Éponine shook her head. “He has no intention of pushing for a relationship. He said he’s going to act exactly the same, I just don’t want Enjolras saying something and leave Grantaire feeling humiliated. You know how he bottles up his feelings.”

“It’s a shame really, now that I think about,” said Cosette. “Grantaire is really lovely, he’d do anything for his friends. He did so much to help Marius during the fencing tournament. And remember when he drove to the other side of town because someone said he _might_ find a first edition of a book Combeferre wanted for his birthday?”

“He’s not half bad looking either,” Musichetta added, “I mean, have you seen those eyes? They are like a gateway to the night sky.”

“They are both so opinionated though, I don’t know if they’d last long before they’d argue each other to death.”

“They argue a lot now though, and yet they still come back for more,” Musichetta said in reply to Éponine.

“They like it,” Cosette smiled, “Enjolras enjoys it. Very few people can debate with Enjolras and win. I think he admires Grantaire for being capable.”

“Shame that’s all he feels for him,” Éponine sighed. 

“Mmm,” Cosette agreed. There was a beat of silence.

“Got any good films Cosette?” asked Musichetta noncommittally. 

“Hang on, I’ll go check my room.”

Enjolras, who had been completely still for the majority of the conversation, burst into life. Not wanting to be seen, he scrambled back to his room and shut the door behind him. 

“Who says that’s all I feel for him?” he said to himself, slightly annoyed. He liked Éponine well enough, but who was she to assume how he felt? But how did he feel? Shocked? Yes. Sick? Yes. But there was a part of him, just a tiny, well hidden part of him that was doing summersaults at the thought of Grantaire having feelings for him. “But that doesn’t mean – I mean – that isn’t to say I-” He took in his flushed reflection in the mirror. “Oh fuck.”

*

Marius and Bossuet were the only ones left in the changing rooms after fencing practise. Marius had lost a shoe and Bossuet was helping him find it.

“Don’t you think,” Bossuet said as he lay on his stomach looking to see if the shoe had rolled under the bench, “that Grantaire was a little off his game today?”

“I did actually,” replied Marius as he checked his bag for the fourth time. “He seemed preoccupied. It was unlike him to give away so many easy points to Bahorel.”

“And he didn’t hang around to chat.”

“I wonder what’s got into him.”

Bossuet grinned. Marius caught his eye. 

“You don’t think,” he started. Bossuet shrugged. Marius laughed and shook his head. 

The door to the changing room opened.

“Oh good, you’re still here.”

Marius looked up to see Montparnasse standing in the doorway holding a trainer in his hand. He stretched out and gave it to Marius.

“I must have packed it in my bag by mistake.”

“Thanks,” Marius said, taking it and putting it in his bag which he then zipped up and swung over his shoulder. Bossuet grabbed his own bag and they made to leave, but Montparnasse was hovering, blocking their way.

“Actually Marius, I need to talk to you.” He eyed Bossuet warily. 

“I’ll wait outside for you,” said Bossuet, taking the hint. 

“No, no,” Montparnasse said hurriedly, appearing to change his mind, “you might as well stay. Marius will probably need you.” Bossuet stayed put and together he and Marius waited for Montparnasse to speak. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this Marius but it’s Cosette, she’s been having an affair.”

There was a beat of silence and then Bossuet laughed. 

“I don’t know who told you that but it isn’t true,” he said simply, “she’s not like that.”

Montparnasse addressed Marius, who was standing perfectly still.

“I have seen her with my own eyes. She is seeing someone behind your back who goes to her university.”

“No, you must be mistaken,” Bossuet tried again, getting a little heated. 

“She meets him outside her campus library at thursday lunchtimes. Can you get away on your lunch hour and I can prove it to you? You’d better come too Bossuet or else you won’t ever believe me.”

“So long as you are ready with an apology when you realise your mistake,” Bossuet said through gritted teeth.

“Marius?”

Marius had been completely silent, not moving as Bossuet defended his girlfriend. As Montparnasse prompted him, he flicked his head up and down once. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll come.”

*

“Drinks on me,” Montparnasse said in an unusually happy tone. Babet gave a hearty cheer, very much approving of Montparnasse's inspired generosity. 

“It went well then?” asked Claquesous, bemused. He and Gueulemer had been waiting for over an hour for the arrival of their co-conspirators. They were dying to know if their plotting had caused the desired effect.

“It couldn’t have gone better,” beamed Montparnasse. His smile was haunting, those cold, black eyes flashed the bright green they once were before his various vices took Montparnasse over. “I lured Marius to the library building as planned, I brought that fool Bossuet along to confirm the story, and there they witnessed the beloved _Cosette_ ,” he made quotation marks in the air, “getting to know this ugly beast.” He gave Babet a shove, who growled warningly as a response, but Montparnasse did not appear to be threatened by him. “What was her name anyway?” he asked as he paid for the drinks the young barman had prepared for him. He handed one to each of his friends. None thanked him. 

“Mary… Molly… Something like that,” Babet said indifferently. He drank some beer and then wiped the froth off his top lip with the back of his huge hand. He had a scar running from his knuckle to his wrist. “I told her she looked like an actress called Cosette and when I called her by that name I was saying she was just as beautiful as her.”

“And she believed you?” asked Claquesous dubiously.

“Head full of cotton wool that girl,” Babet shrugged, “I figured it’d make life easier.”

“You should have seen Marius’s face when I pointed them out. Absolutely _crushed_.” Montparnasse was positively gleeful. “Nice job hiding her face by the way.” Babet bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“It’s surprisingly easy to hide a girl’s face when you’ve got her pressed up against a wall.” Again Babet shrugged like it was nothing. 

“And an excellent likeness!”

Claquesous secretly wondered if Montparnasse had already emptied his hip flask before arriving, for he had never seen him so happy and rosy cheeked. 

“I managed to gently bring up the subject of Cosette while Bossuet got the car,” continued Montparnasse. “I persuaded him to dump her. What’s more, I suggested how to do it.” He paused for dramatic effect and then proceeded to tell them exactly what he had said to Marius. 

Gavroche frowned as he refilled the coke fridge. He had worked at the Corinthe since his eighteenth birthday and had a gift for befriending the locals. He soon learnt who the regulars were, and so when this group of thugs celebrating at the bar mentioned a ‘Marius’ and a ‘Bossuet’ he was certain it was the very same Bossuet that had engaged him in conversation for almost half an hour when he had first started working there, welcoming him like no other regular had. He very much liked that group of friends, and they were polite and loyal customers too, never caused any trouble.

He had listened intently as Montparnasse had divulged his plot and quite frankly Gavroche was disgusted. He may have played a few tricks in his time and manipulated people to get what he had wanted, but not like this. This was just evil.

As he went out back to get some more ice and lemon, he vowed to inform Bossuet and his friends of what had been planned for their friend Marius. 

*

Enjolras groaned loudly as Cosette came bounding into his room and jumped onto the bed. 

“Come on you lazy sod, get up.” She shook the pile of duvet Enjolras was hiding under. 

“Now? But it’s-” he crawled out from under his sheets and looked at his digital clock. He gawped. “It is _not_ half past six?!”

“It blooming well is, now hurry up and get ready.”

“I’m not going,” Enjolras said as he retreated back under his duvet.

“And why ever not?” asked Cosette innocently as she drew closer. There was a muffled “migraine” from the lump under the duvet. Cosette gave a knowing smile. “Are you sure? It’s unlike you to get sick. Nothing’s upset you recently has it? Or got you all worried?” She jumped when Enjolras sat up in a shot. His cheeks were faintly pink, his hair dishevelled. She tried not to laugh when she saw he was still in pyjamas. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said sharply. “I have a migraine. I’m not going. Have fun without me.”

Cosette pitied him. 

“You will be missed,” she said as she got up and walked away. As she left the room she called over her shoulder, “I know some would _love_ to see you.”

There was a loud thump and a curse from behind Cosette that had her certain Enjolras had fallen off the bed. The moment she had shut the front door behind her, she threw her head back and laughed. 

She relayed the story of Enjolras’s “illness” at the bar almost as soon as she had arrived. Grantaire wasn’t there as he needed to work and Feuilly had not yet arrived. Marius, too, had been unavailable, although he had been a little vague as to his reasons. 

“He sounds sick,” Joly sounded concerned at first but then he raised an eyebrow smugly, “ _lovesick_.”

“So what are we going to do next?” Courfeyrac asked eagerly. Combeferre held up a hand.

“Let’s just wait a while, give them a chance to work this out on their own. Knowing Enjolras, he’s going to be freaking out for a while.”

Courfeyrac fidgeted impatiently, debating whether to argue, but Cosette spoke up first. 

“I agree, let them mull it over. Enjolras isn’t the type to sit back and do nothing. At any rate he will talk to one of us about it eventually and we can nudge him in the right direction.”

As the others murmured their agreement, Feuilly arrived. 

“Come,” Musichetta called when she spotted him, “we are discussing our very own archangel and his soon-to-be boyfriend Van Gogh.”

Feuilly grinned. 

“Two seconds, let me get a drink and I’ll join you.”

He went over to the bar, counting the coins in his pocket to see what he could afford. 

“Just an Archer’s for me thanks,” he said to the barman when it was his turn to be served. 

“It’s Feuilly right?”

Feuilly looked up and took in the appearance of the barman properly. He can't have been all that old, twenty maybe? His eyes outlined with dark circles and his hair looked as if it had never seen a pair of scissors. 

“Um yeah.” He heard Jehan laugh behind him, he turned and saw Musichetta beckoning him. He turned back to face the guy behind the bar again. He recognised the kid, but his name eluded him. “Gavin?”

“Gavroche.” The boy tried but failed to hide the disappointed in his voice as Feuilly said the wrong name. “You’re friends with Bossuet right? And Marius?” Feuilly nodded impatiently. “Only I have a story I think they’d like to hear. Being a barman puts me in the middle of everything and often I overhear conversations people have. I once overheard two guys plan a robbery so of course I tipped off the jewellery store. They gave me quite a reward I can tell you.” The part of Feuilly that was listening was mildly impressed at Gavroche’s courage, but mostly he just wanted to go. “Another time I heard how these girls intended to get back at their boyfriends by-”

“Look, I’m sure your stories are great,” Feuilly said impatiently, “but I’ve got to get back to my friends.”

Gavroche tried to protest but Feuilly had already taken his glass and walked away. Behind the bar, Gavroche swore.

“So,” Bahorel said as Feuilly returned to where the others were sitting, “tell us how Grantaire is holding up.”


	4. Act 4

Marius was a nasty shade of grey as Cosette turned up at his house the next day with half the group in tow.

“They insisted on coming,” she shrugged as Bossuet, Enjolras, and Joly climbed out of her car. Musichetta, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire got out of the car behind. Grantaire stiffened when he caught sight of Enjolras, but Enjolras was too busy glaring at Marius to notice his presence. Cosette thought Marius was going to throw up as his face turned to a sickly shade of green. She hit her brother on the stomach so that it would break the eye contact.

“This is a big milestone for the two of you,” Courfeyrac said excitedly, “so of course we would want to gate crash it.”

Marius shot a sideways look at Bossuet.

“Right well, let’s do this then, shall we?”

Marius lived in a maisonette at the back of an estate. The father he had never known had left it to him in his will when Marius was a boy. After years of feeling angry and rejected, Marius decided to move in, only to discover every snippet of information his father had collected about him over the years. How he’d won the cutest baby competition in the paper, the photo of him in the local magazine with his football team, a photograph taken at the very back of the cathedral where Marius had graduated with a first class honours in languages. His father had been following his progress all his life but never built up the courage to make contact. One day when he was clearing out the wardrobe of the main bedroom, Marius had found a box of unfinished letters addressed to him. Each one explaining in a different way how his father was a soldier who had come back from Iraq and suffered a breakdown. He couldn’t cope with being a father and so had left his wife and child in the middle of the night. Ashamed, he didn’t return, although he wrote over and over again how much he wanted to, and there the letters stopped. Marius learnt from the lawyers that he had died from cancer, the doctors said he never seemed interested in fighting it. So Marius got the house and its contents along with answers he had never expected to have. 

His father had so badly wanted to be good, Marius couldn’t bring himself to look upon the place he had left him knowing what he was about to do.

“Here we are,” he said in a very faint voice as they walked up the path to the front door. His audience waited with nervous excitement. 

“Marius,” Cosette said questioningly, “key?”

“Oh right,” he said. Not meeting her gaze, he handed her a gold key. She took it eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet before skipping to the door and slotting it into the keyhole. She turned the key.

Or at least she tried to. It would not budge in the lock. She tried twisting it the other way but that didn’t work either.

“Marius,” she said confused, “the key isn’t working.”

Marius spoke, but it was so quiet that no one caught what he said.

“I’m sorry?” Cosette said.

“I know the key doesn’t work,” Marius said almost shouting, making some of them jump.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Marius looked up, finding the courage he had been missing. “Perfect, innocent Cosette, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth,” he mocked. Enjolras stepped forward threateningly but Cosette put her arm out to stop him going any further.

“What the hell is this Marius?” she said fiercely. Marius shrunk backwards.

“You… you cheated,” he stammered timidly, “you cheated on me.”

“What are you t-”

“I saw you.”

Everyone was silent. Cosette had turned white.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

“It’s true,” Bossuet said, stepping forward to stand beside Marius. Marius seemed to hide behind him. “You can't deny it Cosette, I was there. Three days ago, one o’clock outside the library. I saw you with that other guy. We _heard_ him call you by name.”

“It’s over Cosette,” Marius concluded quietly, avoiding all eye contact.

All the colour had drained from Cosette’s face.

“Cosette?” Musichetta said, placing a concerned hand on her shoulder, “Cosette darling are you okay? You aren’t going to faint, are you?”

“Faint?” Cosette said breathlessly. She stared at Marius in disbelief for some time before coming to life and striking him on the cheek. The sound of the slap echoed across the courtyard. “How could you think I could do something like that to you?” she asked Marius, her voice raw with hurt. She then turned sharply on her heal, facing Musichetta. “And I never faint.” With that, she stalked off, her head held high but her whole body shaking.

Those left behind had no idea what to do with themselves, seeing the power couple not just split up but explode in their faces was like watching the earth crumble. It was impossible.

“I saw her,” Marius repeated. For a moment he thought Enjolras was going to punch him, but instead he looked him up and down like he was something vile on the bottom of his shoe, and then charged off after his sister. Marius chanced a glance at the others, none were willing to look at him, words failing them all. Only Grantaire was willing to meet his gaze, looking at him with an unreadable expression, and then he too ran off after Enjolras and Cosette. 

Enjolras hadn’t got too far when Grantaire had caught up with him. It was clear he was still filled with rage and he almost punched Grantaire in the face as he took hold of his shoulder.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, panting, “Enjolras calm down.”

“Calm down?” Enjolras shouted. “Did you see what that-” he hissed again as he struggled to find a word evil enough to describe Marius. “He humiliated her in front of everyone! He made a fool of her over a foul rumour.”

“So you know it isn’t true? You were with her?”

Enjolras hesitated.

“No, no I wasn’t,” he said calming a little, “but I know my sister and she wouldn’t do this.”

“I know I know,” Grantaire said quickly, seeing Enjolras’s temper rising again, “let’s just find her and then we can go from there, okay?”

Enjolras nodded. He gave Grantaire a brief but grateful smile and took a deep breath. He gestured to a park down the end of the road.

“I think she went that way.”

Grantaire released Enjolras’s shoulder.

“Then let’s go.”

They found Cosette sitting on a swing, crying into her delicate hands. They took her home where Musichetta was waiting for them. She immediately pulled Cosette into a tight embrace, providing the motherly care that both Enjolras and Grantaire could not. 

Tea was made and ice cream salvaged from the back of the freezer whilst Cosette sat wrapped in a blanket at the dining table. There were no more tears left in her, so she sobbed. She hitched with every breath, sniffing every now and again. She watched as the others fussed about making the tea, cleaning the table of its clutter, and getting tissues from the bathroom. She wanted to tell them to stop, that they didn’t need to worry about her, but she couldn’t find her voice. 

It was only when her breathing slowed to an even rhythm did Enjolras take a seat at the table. Grantaire and Musichetta followed his lead. Enjolras handed Cosette a cup of steaming tea in her favourite mug and when she gave him a weak smile he deemed it safe to break the silence. 

“How are you doing?”

Cosette blew on her drink and took a sip, the tea warmed her instantly and she relaxed her tense grip on the blanket. 

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice a little croaky, “the shock has subsided a bit.”

“I don’t believe it,” Grantaire said heartily, “no matter what they thought they saw, you wouldn’t do that.”

“Thanks,” Cosette tried to sound appreciative but really it didn’t matter to her what Grantaire thought, the only person she cared about didn’t believe her. She swallowed more tea in the hopes of washing away the lump forming in her throat. 

“Is there anything you need?” Enjolras asked tentatively. 

“Make sure I never see that bastard’s face again,” she snarled. 

“Perhaps you should go away for a while,” Musichetta suggested, “my family have a holiday home at the coast, we could-”

“No,” Cosette cut her short. “I will not be driven out of my own home because of a foul rumour.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras said, squeezing her hand and shooting Musichetta an angry look. Musichetta, however, missed it. She was too busy looking pensively off into the distance, the cogs in her mind turning. 

“If you are unwilling to go away, maybe you could pretend to. You’ve finished your exams now, we could tell everyone you’ve gone to look for job opportunities elsewhere. Once you’re gone, Marius will realise you’d never do anything like that and regret breaking up with you. He will hurt.”

“I will make sure he hurts,” Enjolras interjected in a low voice, his jaw clenched. 

“You could take some time,” Musichetta continued like she hadn’t been interrupted, “to relax, calm down, get over mister snooty pants, before you start working. Go do the things you’ve always wanted to do.”

Cosette had to admit, it all sounded very tempting. She knew her phone would be bombarded with questions from her friends, the thought of having to face them when she had no idea what had happened in the past few hours made her feel ill. She needed space, and this plan gave it to her. 

It must have shown on her face that she was seriously considering the offer because Enjolras spoke before she could. 

“No,” he snapped. “Lying and deceiving everyone, I don’t like it. And what if someone was to come here and spot you? No, I won’t allow it.”

Cosette’s expression turned dark. 

“This is my decision,” she said coldly, “and I shall do it if I want to. And I want to.” She retracted her hand from his and got up. She glared at Enjolras, daring him to challenge her. When he didn’t, she turned and walked to her bedroom. Musichetta gave Enjolras an apologetic look and then went after Cosette.

Grantaire chuckled. 

“Way to make sure she does the opposite of what you want,” he said, “forbidding it. That’s unlike you.” Enjolras winced, Grantaire could tell he was ashamed of himself. “Look,” he said kindly, putting his arm around him instinctively, “I don’t blame you. The plan is barmy. I probably would have done the same thing in your position. But it’s Cosette’s choice and if she wants to do it then you should go along with it. She needs space and this is one way of ensuring it. It will be okay.”

Enjolras, who had been staring unmovingly at a notch in the wood table, suddenly snapped his head round. 

“Why do you care so much?” he asked angrily, venting the fury he had, until now, managed to keep under control for Cosette’s sake. Grantaire drew back his arm like it had been burnt. “I am Cosette’s brother, Musichetta is as good as a sister, what are you? You sit there telling me what to do, to calm down, to go along with this plan, but really what business is it of yours? You have no reason to be here other than-”

“I’m in love with you.”

Grantaire hadn’t meant to say it, he had intended to let Enjolras vent just so he could be some use to him, but every personal attack was like a knife to the heart. He blushed furiously. 

“Funny thing that actually,” he said. He let out a single, hard ‘ha’ and then scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Don’t you think?”

A rush of emotions flittered across Enjolras’s face too fast for Grantaire to recognise any of them.

“Mad,” Enjolras said faintly. He voice surprised himself, it didn’t sound anything like him. It was as if someone else very tired and very far away had spoken. “But not as mad as if I were to say I were in love with you. Which I’m not saying I do.”

“You’re not saying you don’t either,” said Grantaire, a wry grin slowly growing on his face. 

“No, well,” Enjolras jumped up from his seat as Grantaire suddenly felt very close, “I…”

Grantaire stood up too so Enjolras quickly shuffled round to put the table between them.

“I’m worried about Cosette,” he shouted in one panicky breath.

“You love me,” Grantaire grinned, pointing an accusing finger. 

“I never said that!”

“Then say it. Say it!”

“I LOVE YOU!”

Both Enjolras and Grantaire were breathing heavily as they tried to collect themselves. Confessing their feelings took more out of them than they had expected. Enjolras gripped hold of the back of the chair in front of him to steady himself. He glanced up and caught Grantaire’s eye. He blushed and stared at his feet.

“What can I do for you?” Grantaire said with great enthusiasm. “I want to do something for you. Anything.”

Enjolras straightened up unsmilingly. In those few seconds of silence he had found himself again. He looked at Grantaire straight in the eye and said, “destroy Marius.”

All elation evaporated from Grantaire like a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown at him. 

“Punch him, kick him, I want to see the pain he caused Cosette in the form of bruises on his skin.”

He spoke so coldly, so detached, that Grantaire was almost afraid. He sighed. 

“I can’t do that.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest but Grantaire held out his palm to stop him. “And if you dare say you will do it yourself I will tell you now that if you were thinking rationally, if our positions were reversed, you would not approve of physical abuse.”

Enjolras looked at him with complete and utter loathing. 

“Then what good is your love for me?”

He wasn’t going to listen, Grantaire had no doubt about that, so before Enjolras could say something he couldn’t take back, he decided to control the situation. He sighed again. 

“You are absolutely certain Cosette has been wronged?” Enjolras made a noise that said he was offended that he even had to ask that. “Then for your sake I believe you. I am not going to just beat Marius up in a dark alley, but I _will_ challenge him to a fencing duel. It’s a little old fashioned but it’s the best I can offer. Maybe I will slip and hit him in the more sensitive areas once or twice,” he added as an afterthought. “You have my word I will not hold back.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was low, exhausted but appreciative. 

“Thank you.”

*

Gavroche was working an extra shift at the Corinthe to pay the rent he had fallen short of for that month. He lived in more of a cupboard than a bedsit, but it was a roof over his head and he was content with that. He had moved away from home at sixteen, the second he was legally able to care for himself. Neglect didn’t even come close to how his parents treated him. They didn’t want a son, so they did not have one in their eyes. He turned out well despite it all though, being surprisingly good with people. It came in handy working in a bar. 

Gavroche was just thinking about that when Gervais, a friendly retail manager in his late twenties came and sat at the bar. Through numerous conversations Gavroche had learnt that he too had come from nothing and was now living quite comfortably. Gavroche admired him in his own way, having those few years ahead of him, and Gervais in turn had taken him under his wing. 

“Evening Gavroche,” he said as he sat on a stool and leant both elbows on the bar. He didn’t seem to mind that it was a little sticky. 

“Hey Gervais, your usual?”

“And one for yourself.”

Okay, so maybe there was more than one reason why Gavroche liked Gervais. 

“How was work?” he asked politely as he served the Strongbow and then poured one for himself. The evening rush had not yet started so Gavroche was free to clean some glasses whilst talking to Gervais. 

“Damn the person who said the customer is always right,” Gervais replied with emotion.

“That bad eh?”

“Streams of people expecting you to magic stock out of thin air, returning items they clearly damaged themselves, and the air con is broken.” He massaged his eyes. “Not one of my best days. What about you? Any shady characters been here recently?”

Gavroche thought for a moment.

“We had some travellers pass through but they were no trouble. That old man who was barred after he got so drunk he thought the bar was his home and he refused to leave came back again. I gave him a shot of whisky and sent him on his way. There was one evening, a group of guys actually. They all looked a bit dodgy. But one in particular looked as if he had stepped out of a Smashing Pumpkins music video. He had a tattoo of a spider’s web on his neck.”

“Montparnasse,” Gervais said in some surprise, recognising the description. Gavroche nodded slowly and then increased with speed as his certainty grew. 

“Yeah, I think that’s what they called him.”

“He’s a member of the fencing group I’m a part of.”

“Well watch out for him,” Gavroche said. “He is cunning and manipulative and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

Gavroche proceeded to tell Gervais how Montparnasse, with the assistance of some thuggish friends, had plotted and succeeded to split up a couple and persuaded the guy to dump her in a most humiliating way. Gervais’s mouth was hanging open by it’s own accord by the end of the narrative. 

“I always knew he was a piece of work,” he said when Gavroche was finished. “He plays some dirty tricks during practise, I’m not surprised that’s how he behaves outside of the arena.”

“One day,” Gavroche said, straightening up as he spotted a large crowd enter from the front door and approach the bar, “that guy is going to get what’s coming to him.”


	5. Act 5

There was an uncomfortable atmosphere at the next fencing practise. Bossuet was cracking jokes and making Marius laugh as Bahorel looked on, disapproving of their behaviour.

“Don’t you think you are being a little inappropriate,” he said at last as they burst into a particularly loud fit of giggles. They stopped immediately as Bahorel spoke. “You played a cruel trick on Cosette and you are standing there laughing like she meant nothing.”

“She brought it upon herself,” Bossuet said at once. “She cannot deny what we saw.”

Marius, at least, had the decency to hang his head in shame. Bahorel pressed his lips firmly together.

Just then, the changing room door opened and Grantaire came into the room. He nodded a hello to Bahorel and dropped his bag by his usual peg. 

“Excellent,” Bossuet said, “Grantaire’s here. Let’s pair up and get on with some fencing.”

“Good idea,” Grantaire said. He drew his sword and charged at Marius. “I’ll pair with Marius.”

Marius, looking uneasy with how close Grantaire was holding the foil sword to his face, reached out to put on his kit.

“Oh no no no,” Grantaire said, putting his sword on the pile of various protection pads and clothing so Marius couldn’t pick them up. “You won’t be needing those.” Marius stepped back. There was something frightening in the sickly sweet way Grantaire was speaking. “Why are you backing away from me Marius?” Grantaire asked, taking a step forward to close the gap between them. “Not afraid of a little duel are you? Come now, it’s just a little,” Grantaire gritted his teeth, “ _fun_.”

“I don’t want to,” Marius squeaked. This was clearly the wrong thing to say because Grantaire’s overly friendly persona dropped. 

“Don’t tell me you are afraid of a little pain Marius. You caused enough of it to Cosette.” Marius kept moving away and Grantaire kept moving closer, sword raised. At the sound of Cosette’s name, Marius tripped. He quickly recovered himself. “Or is that it? You aren’t afraid of causing pain to others but you hide from it when it comes to yourself.” Marius dived behind Bossuet as Grantaire lost his temper. “You COWARD Pontmercy! You HUMILIATE Cosette and then I see you acting as if everything is normal!” Marius flinched as Grantaire whipped the air beside him with his sword. “She’s leaving. Did you know that? Gone to stay at Musichetta’s summer home indefinitely because she can’t bear to be near you. You’ve driven her away. From her friends. Her family. Everything. And you hide behind Bossuet instead of facing the consequences like a man. You COWARD!”

He whipped the air again, but this time Bossuet caught Grantaire’s sword with his own, holding it down so Grantaire couldn’t move it, so he settled on snarling at Marius instead. 

“Grantaire,” Bahorel barked with authority. Reluctantly Grantaire turned to him. “Enough.”

The command seemed to knock some sense into Grantaire. He relaxed his grip on the sword slowly until he let go of it completely and it clattered to the floor. Breathing heavily, he turned his back on his friends and walked over to his bag.

“I am quitting the group,” he said in a low voice, void of all emotion. “I don’t want to be associated with a group of people who believe that Cosette could do something like this.”

His bag had fallen over in the scuffle and the contents tipped out. Perfectly calmly, he picked up and packed away everything that had fallen out. As he did so, the door of the changing room opened once more and another member of the fencing group entered and made his way to his peg.

“Grantaire,” Marius said quietly, “is it true what you said? Is Cosette going away?”

Grantaire turned and looked Marius square in the eye.

“Yes.”

There was silence as Grantaire picked up the rest of his things. He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door.

Wanting to diffuse the tension, Bahorel said, “I see Montparnasse hasn’t turned up today.”

“Probably lying low,” said the person who had just come in. “This guy who works at the Corinthe told me he split up some couple the other day. Convinced the guy his girlfriend was cheating.” 

Gervais lifted his jumper over his head and pulled it off to find everyone looking at him. Unconsciously he covered his bare chest with his arms. Grantaire, who had stopped halfway through the doorway, turned to him.

“How exactly did he break them up?”

*

Marius ran. He ran as fast as his gangly legs could carry him. The gym where they fenced was not ten minutes from Cosette’s flat so he did not bother to wait for a bus to get him there. He didn’t even collect his things, hoping Bossuet would take care of them for him. 

How could he have been so stupid? As Gervais had retold the story Gavroche had told him, Marius knew he had been tricked. In a few days he would wonder why, but right now all he could think was how he had thrown away the best thing that had happened to him.

He just missed the lift so he sprinted up the stairs, not noticing if he was breathing or not. He practically collapsed against the door as he knocked frantically calling Cosette’s name. The door opened. 

“Cosette?”

But it was not her at the door, it was Enjolras. At the sight of Marius Enjolras had tried to slam the door shut in his face but Marius had stuck his foot in the way to stop him.

“Enjolras please,” he panted, “where’s Cosette? I need to see her.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, disgusted. He tried to shut the door again but instead hit Marius’s foot. He didn’t react when Marius yelped, although he did look down to see if the pain had caused Marius to move his foot out of the way. It hadn’t. 

“Enjolras please,” Marius said again. “I know the truth, Montparnasse tricked me. I did see someone by the library but it wasn’t Cosette. He convinced me it was, Bossuet believed him too. And then he told me how I should break up with her and get her back for the pain she’d caused me. I thought she’d caused me,” he quickly corrected himself. “I was so upset I just went along with it. Please, I just want to tell her I’m sorry. Grantaire was right, I am a coward.” Enjolras twitched at the sound of Grantaire’s name but he said nothing. “Even if she doesn’t forgive me, I want her to know. Please, where is she?”

“If you think,” Enjolras said in a monotone voice, “that I am going to tell you that after everything you’ve done,” he blinked excruciatingly slowly, “well, you don’t know me very well.”

Enjolras pushed the door once more and this time Marius did not try and stop him.

Through the peephole in the door, Enjolras watched as Marius stood in the hallway. He deflated, ran his fingers through his hair, kicked a wall, and then walked away. Satisfied he was gone and was not coming back, Enjolras called out.

“It’s safe to come out.” He looked over his shoulder. “I know you’re there.”

Cosette crept forward from behind the ajar door leading to her bedroom. She was pale and shaking. Enjolras ran to her and lead her to the kitchen where he guided her to a dining chair. He made her a cup of tea and sat down opposite her, giving her the time and silence to collect her thoughts. 

“What do you think?” she asked after some time. 

“I don’t like it. If he truly loved and trusted you he wouldn’t have believed the lie in the first place. Or at least given you the chance to explain.”

“It’s difficult to not believe what you’ve seen with your own eyes Enjolras.”

“Still,” Enjolras said begrudgingly, “does he not know you?”

“He’s always been insecure. I can imagine him thinking he isn't good enough for me and so believing it when someone tells him I'm seeing someone else.” She groaned and put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to do. He is easily manipulated when he’s emotional, I can imagine him going through some stupid plan made up by someone who gained his confidence.  
”  
“Don’t make excuses for him, what he did was evil.”

“He thought I was unfaithful,” she shrugged. “I mean, look at how I reacted. I slapped him. I didn’t try to understand why he was making the accusation, I didn’t try and talk it out with him, I just walked away.”

“Don’t you dare try and take the blame for this. The only person to blame here is M-”

“Montparnasse.” Cosette stared him down. Enjolras sighed, forcing himself to calm down. 

“Well it comes down to two questions I think,” he said practically. “Can you forgive him and do you want him back?”

Cosette sat silently. Enjolras took it as a cue to leave her to her thoughts, so he put the now empty cups into the sink and retreated to his bedroom to catch up on some reading. 

Late in the evening his door opened and Cosette edged her way into his room. 

“I’ve thought about what you said and the answer to both questions is yes. I have always believed Marius and I could be a happily ever after. I am willing to forgive him for this and give him another chance. I don’t want to give up on us yet. I will take him back.” She pulled a wry grin. “But I think I deserve some theatrics first.”

*

Grantaire sat on the bench in the park looking up at the stars. He often came here when he was upset and wanted to be alone. The lamppost next to him hadn’t worked for months so he sat in near darkness. There was a building opposite containing public toilets and the decrepit hut with its graffitied walls added to his melancholy. But not tonight. Tonight he could see the beauty in everything. The way the moonlight illuminated the greenery to give it a silver glow. The ghost artists who use their talent to decorate the bricked walls, always changing as more is added constantly. And, for once, the broken street lamp didn’t bother him because it meant he could see the stars glittering in the sky like diamonds. 

He laughed at himself, when did he become a romanticist? 

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire allowed the darkness to hide his soft smile as Enjolras stepped into view. The moonlight hit his face and highlighted his soft features. The light around his curls could easily have been mistaken for a halo. 

“Combeferre texted me, told me to meet him here.”

“I asked him to,” Grantaire replied with some anxiety, “I wasn’t sure if you’d come if I asked you. I got the sense you were avoiding me.” There was no malice or accusation in Grantaire’s voice, he almost sounded amused. 

Enjolras took a seat beside him and looked up at the sky as Grantaire had just been doing. 

“Cosette’s innocent,” Grantaire said after a moment of silence. 

“I know,” Enjolras replied, clasping his hands together and dropping his head to look at his feet. “Marius came to my door begging to know where Cosette was. He told me what happened. He wants her back.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, it’s what Cosette wants that’s important.”

“And what does she want?”

“Marius.”

Grantaire nodded to himself. 

“I thought she might. I hope they are happy.”

There was another brief silence before Grantaire spoke again.

“I quit fencing.”

“Wait, what?” Enjolras reeled round in astonishment. “Why?”

“Because I am an idiot.” He huffed a laugh. “I challenged Marius to a duel like I said I would, he refused to face me so I got a little hot headed and quit.”

“Why do you care so much?” Enjolras asked in a small voice.

“Because Cosette is important to you and you are important to me.” He took Enjolras’s hand in his and gave it a squeeze. There was a beat and then Enjolras squeezed back. Grantaire suppressed a grin. 

“When did you…” Enjolras started nervously.

“Fall in love with you?” Grantaire supplied when Enjolras wasn’t able to complete his question. “I’m not sure, it just sort of happened. What about you?”

“I don’t know,” Enjolras frowned, “I think I loved you long before I realised.”

“As long as you know now,” Grantaire smiled as he kissed the back of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Oh yes,” Enjolras smiled softly, “I know now.”

*

Marius had met the others for breakfast at the Café Musain before work. There had been a small amount of awkwardness after the accusations were made, nobody knew what to believe. They couldn’t understand why Marius would lie but they also knew Cosette was not an unfaithful person. Marius had found himself isolated, his friends not wanting to choose between the two people they loved. Only Éponine had stuck by him, but even she had scolded him about his behaviour towards Cosette. But now the truth was out and they had learnt that both had been wronged by a third party, they were trying to mend a withering relationship. Marius understood. He had no right to be angry with them, he had put them in an impossible position and he was lucky they had accepted him back when they had realised how much of a fool he’d been. 

When the news had spread of what had really happened, Marius had been bombarded with texts of apologises and sympathies and a few gentle disapprovals. One person had suggested meeting for breakfast and Marius had ended up inviting everyone. A great number of hugs were given upon his arrival. Courfeyrac had bought his tea and Bossuet his croissant, and even Grantaire had turned up and given him a courteous nod. 

Joly was recalling a funny patient story involving an egg whisk and an unspeakable body part, when the bell signalling the Musain door opening went. The breeze that came through seemed to carry Joly’s voice away as he stopped talking midsentence and stared opened mouthed at the entrance. 

Marius followed his gaze, along with everyone else, and was astonished to see Enjolras standing there. 

“I’m not stopping,” he said at once, looking at each of them in turn, “I heard you were here.” Combeferre shifted in his seat. “I just wanted to invite you all to a charity event next Friday evening that my work is hosting. My father is also introducing the new employee he has just hired to everyone there. He’s asked me to invite you all to bump up the numbers.” His gaze settled on Marius and Marius wished the ground would swallow him up. Enjolras looked him up and down unpleasantly. “Including you. Dad doesn’t know about-” he did not need to complete his sentence for Marius to understand. Guilt writhed in his stomach. “He’d like you there.”

“Of course, of course,” Marius agreed readily, jumping up from his seat. He desperately wanted to get back into Enjolras’s good books. “I’d be happy to support any of your father’s noble causes.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Enjolras said coldly. He turned to the others. “So I can confirm that you are all coming?”

There was a chorus of ‘yeah’s’ and ‘of course’s’. Enjolras nodded to himself, eyed Marius one last time with the repulsion that could only be compared to the way a teacher looks at their most hated student, and then he left. 

“So,” Courfeyrac said, breaking the tension, “party on Friday it is then.”

*

“Combeferre you have got to try these things,” Courfeyrac said as he popped another vol-au-vent into his already full mouth. “It’s like an explosion of flavour on your tongue.” Combeferre frowned as he flicked a crumb off his shirt that had sprayed from Courfeyrac’s mouth as he was talking. 

“Have you tried the salmon toast pieces?” asked Joly in an equally excited tone. “Or those risotto balls?”

“And the stuffed new potatoes!”

“Oh god it’s like you’ve never been to a Fauchelevent party before,” Musichetta rolled her eyes fondly. 

“He just gets the best food,” Courfeyrac said longingly as he got on tiptoes and searched for another waiter with a platter of food in the hopes they might come his way. “Marius, can you see any food approaching? Maybe those scrummy Tuscan mushrooms?” he asked hopefully. Marius, being taller than most, could get on tiptoes and see more of the room than Courfeyrac. Like a periscope he searched the room and then shook his head. 

“Afraid not Courf’.”

“Damn.”

“It’s all too fancy for me,” Bahorel said, looking down at his mini club sandwich the size of his thumb. “How can you call that a meal? Bloody lawyers pinching every penny.”

“It’s finger food,” Musichetta said exasperated at the lack of class in the company she kept. 

“I think it’s lovely,” Grantaire said earnestly as he stole one of Bahorel’s sandwiches. “Very, um, quaint and fanciful.”

“ _Per_ -lease,” Courfeyrac said like he didn’t believe a word of what Grantaire was saying. “You are only saying that because you want to get into the pants of the CEO’s son. The old you would have called this pretentious and tight, making it look like they have lots of food when actually there’s hardly anything and making people feel guilty for taking too much at one time.”

“I’d never say anything like that,” Grantaire said, mockingly scandalised. 

“Face it Grantaire, you’ve been blinded by love,” Marius chimed in.

“I have not,” Grantaire protested, no longer joking. 

“You, my friend, are whipped.”

“Nonsense,” Grantaire said, but even as he spoke he lost control of his emotions and began to grin widely as Enjolras approached with the rest of the group.

“Whipped,” Courfeyrac repeated in a low voice. Grantaire wanted to make a retort but Enjolras had stepped into earshot and so he restrained himself. 

Enjolras gestured for them all to come closer so they could hear him over the chatter of the guests. 

“Dad’s about to make his speech,” he said, using his hand to lean unnecessarily on Grantaire’s chest to get closer to the others. “I thought we should all be together for it.”

He shot Grantaire a significant look, quickly glancing sideways at Marius. Only Grantaire knew what was to come next, Enjolras had to confide to someone and Grantaire was there. Just like he always was, Enjolras had realised. 

On cue, the sound of several people shushing the crowd brought the noise of the chatter down until it fizzled out completely. The guests of the party all turned politely to face the man holding his glass of champagne in the air. He was slightly older than middle aged with a full head of hair that was completely white, and a kind face marked with lines of past troubles. His resemblance to Cosette was striking. 

“Friends,” he began, his booming voice carrying across the hall for all to hear. “Thank you all for coming. It has been a delight and a privilege to host this gathering tonight. But now I’d like to speak a little about why we are here. Despite living in our modern society, there are still thousands of children suffering on our streets or even in the homes of our own people. Neglected, alone, afraid, they have nothing. Every child deserves a chance in life and that is why I chose to host this event to raise money for charities that help children in need in this country, and I am proud to announce we have raised over a thousand pounds more than last year, so thank you for your generosity. For more details on the charities this money will support please take a leaflet on your way out. I hope you have enjoyed your evening and to my employees I hope you will take the weekend to recharge ready to get back to work on monday. The only thing left for me to do is to introduce you all to the newest member of our team, soon to be researcher and assistant for juvenile cases, my own beloved daughter, Cosette.”

Cosette looked beautiful as she stepped out from behind the double doors of the ballroom. She wore a simple dark blue cocktail dress with a black sash tied into a bow across her waist. As she entered to the applause, she ducked her head shyly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She shook hands with those near her, other employees that wanted to welcome her to the company. Many she already knew through her father and was looking forward to working with them herself. When she finally got round to her friends, she noticed they had all taken a step back to allow Marius some time with her first. 

Marius was frozen to the spot. He had felt his heart explode when Mr. Fauchelevent had called out Cosette’s name. He had watched her unmovingly as she embraced the guests, drawing nearer to him with every employee. What could he say to her? I’m sorry? I love you? It wasn’t enough. He just wanted to hold her and not let go. 

She stepped away from an elderly gentleman with a fancy silver topped walking stick and for the first time looked at Marius. He saw her take a deep breath and then approach him.

“Cosette,” he said the moment he could, “I-”

“Shut up,” she said authoritatively. He obeyed. She wasn’t smiling and that terrified Marius. “What you did to me was cruel and stupid.” Marius opened his mouth to speak but she held up her hand, warning him not to interrupt her. “I would never ever do anything like that to you and I hope now you know that. Enjolras told me what happened and I know it wasn’t entirely your fault.” She sighed and her hard exterior softened slightly. “I love you Marius and I don’t want to lose you. I can forgive you and will take you back, if that’s what you want.”

“Oh Cosette!” Marius cried in a mixture of pure joy and relief. He went to embrace her but she stepped away from him. She was not finished.

“Don’t you dare doubt me again.” With her conditions made Cosette felt safe to relax. “I’ve missed you,” she said in her usual, loving way and she kissed Marius for all it was worth. Marius pulled her into a hug, hiding his face in the crook of her neck murmuring apologies that he would never be able to stop saying. He was a fool. 

The luckiest fool alive.

Only when they had pulled apart did the others consider it safe to join them. Some congratulated them, others decided a squeeze on the arm was enough. 

As Musichetta distracted Cosette, Enjolras tugged Marius aside.

“If you dare hurt my sister again-” he started to growl, but Marius finished his sentence for him. 

“I know, I know, you will come for me. As you should. I will never forgive myself for what I have done.” Enjolras gave a curt nod of satisfaction. “But it means everything to have your forgiveness.”

Enjolras drew his eyebrows together in some surprise. 

“Who says I forgive you? I never said I approved of this,” he gestured between Cosette and Marius, “reunion, but this wasn’t my choice to make and I am not going to make my sister choose between her brother and her-” he pressed his lips together and huffed hot air out of his nose, “you.”

Marius allowed the disappointment to show on his face, but he nodded to show he understood. 

“I deserve your judgement, I just hope I can earn your trust once more.”

Enjolras surveyed Marius’s sombre and sincere expression and sighed. 

“I know you were tricked Marius,” he said not unkindly, “and I know you are a good person at heart and wouldn’t have done these things in your right mind, but the fact is you _did_ do them and it will take some time before I can consider us okay. But for my sister’s sake,” he glanced in her direction, she caught his eye and smiled, she was positively glowing, “I am willing to try.”

He held out his hand. Marius stared open mouthed at it before taking it eagerly to shake. 

“Thank you Enjolras.”

“What are you two whispering about,” Cosette said as she appeared beside them and draped an arm around each of them. She then spotted the handshake as Enjolras let go and immediately understood. She smiled softly and him and kissed him on the cheek. “Come, let’s dance.”

She dragged them to where the others were standing on the edge of the dance floor.

“I’m not dancing,” Enjolras said firmly. 

“Then I am going to steal your man and dance with him instead,” Éponine said unapologetically as she linked arms with Grantaire. Enjolras blushed. 

“He’s not my-”

“Oh come _on_ Enjolras, we all know,” Éponine rolled her eyes, “so why don’t you just make it official and get on with it!”

“I… I…” he stammered. 

“It’s okay Enjolras,” Grantaire laughed, “I heard Combeferre say you told him you didn’t have the courage to ask me out on a proper date.”

“I never said that.”

“Right,” Grantaire winked. 

“No I mean I _really_ never said that,” Enjolras said looking genuinely confused. “Combeferre?”

Combeferre, who had been talking to Joly and Bahorel, turned as his name was called. He lifted one eyebrow questioningly. 

“I never told you I didn’t have the courage to ask Grantaire out. I’ve never talked about Grantaire in that way to you.”

Combeferre shifted guiltily on the spot. He caught Courfeyrac’s eye, who’s expression could only be translated to ‘oh shit’.

“And now I’m guessing you’ve never told Éponine you weren’t going to push for a relationship with me? That you were going to act the same.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to look confused.

“No?”

Enjolras looked suspiciously at each of the guilty faces surrounding them.

“Grantaire,” he said slowly, “I think we’ve been played.”

Grantaire stepped back away from Enjolras, unlinking Éponine’s arm from his. 

“You mean you’ve never said you liked arguing with me and deliberately try to start a debate for the hell of it?”

“No,” Enjolras replied, looking equally horrified. “And you’ve never said you like the passion I have for my work and the good I want to do in my life?”

Grantaire shook his head. 

“Look Enjolras,” Grantaire said frantically, “when I said… all those things, I meant as friends. You knew that right?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said quickly, an overly formal façade masking his expression. “So long as you know I meant the same as well.”

“I know you did.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“No!” cried Courfeyrac. He pulled at his hair and let out a noise of frustration. “No, I am not having the two of you undo all the hard work I have put into this.” He placed a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Grantaire, do you or do you not love Enjolras?”

“Well…” Grantaire’s gaze shifted between Courfeyrac and Enjolras. “No more than reason.”

Courfeyrac threw his hands up in the air.

“Enjolras,” Cosette ordered, “tell Grantaire you love him.”

“I love him no more than reason,” was his reply. 

“Guys come on,” Combeferre said, “Enjolras was unbearable whilst you were away at the tournament.”

“And I’ve seen your drawings Grantaire,” added Courfeyrac, “the ones of-”

“Okay okay,” Grantaire said quickly, stopping Courfeyrac from giving away too much. “I give in. So maybe I do _like_ Enjolras more than reason.”

Everyone turned to Enjolras. 

“And maybe I like him more than reason as well,” he said in a small voice, not quite meeting anyone’s eye. Cosette prodded him hard in the bicep. He looked at her and she rose an eyebrow. “Okay so maybe I love him a little bit.”

What could only be described as an adorable besotted grin grew on Grantaire’s face. He could not hide the adoration as he looked at Enjolras. 

“Maybe I love him a little bit too.”

Enjolras looked up and met Grantaire’s gaze. The same adoring smile spread across his own face. They stared at each other for some time just grinning until Cosette realised they needed a little push so she prodded Enjolras once more. 

“What?” Enjolras whined, “I’ve already said what you wanted me to.”

Cosette could not believe how slow her brother was. She gestured to Grantaire.

“Kiss him!”

The small ‘oh’ of realisation was all that came before Enjolras closed the gap between him and Grantaire, pressing their lips together in a shy and delicate kiss. Grantaire responded immediately, snaking his arms round Enjolras’s waist as Enjolras rested his hands on Grantaire’s jaw. 

Their friends cheered. 

“About bleeding time,” added Courfeyrac.

“Fuck off Courf’,” Grantaire said, his lips still getting to know Enjolras’s.

“Enjolras, Enjolras!” 

At the sound of his father calling his name, Enjolras pulled free of Grantaire’s warm and inviting embrace. He missed it as soon as it was gone. Squeezing his hand, Enjolras turned and marched towards his father, who met him halfway across the dance floor. Mr. Fauchelevent tried to speak but Enjolras couldn’t hear what he was saying over the music so they retreated to where the others were on the side lines. 

“Everything okay dad?” Cosette asked as they joined them.

“We’ve got a case,” he explained, his fatherly persona replaced with that of the businessman and lawyer. “A young man has just been arrested as part of a gang who have been targeting jewellery stores. He wants us to defend him.”

“Name?” Enjolras asked, already having got his phone out and prepared to start his preparation. Mr. Fauchelevent checked his notes and cleared his throat.

“Montparnasse.”


End file.
